


Well Met By Moonlight

by ms_katonic



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Alternate Universe, Companions, Dark Brotherhood - Freeform, F/M, Femdom, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-10
Updated: 2012-11-17
Packaged: 2017-11-18 08:59:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 38,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/559190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ms_katonic/pseuds/ms_katonic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After trying to kill the pretender Astrid, Cicero's fleeing for his life across Skyrim, Arnbjorn in full pursuit. However, when Cicero runs into a stronger and more fearsome opponent than Arnbjorn, he's quick to take full advantage and turn to them for protection - even if that does mean pretending he knows what honour is and throwing in his lot with the Companions of Ysgramor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Jester and the Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> This is being written in response to a Skyrim Kink Meme prompt in which the OP wanted the factions mixed up - an NPC from one faction who fell in love with a Dragonborn in charge of a different one. One of the options was Cicero joining the Companions. So of course I went for it. This is the result. Smut in later chapters but not this one. Cicero's character arc doesn't really allow for admiring a non-Dark Brotherhood Dragonborn from afar for long, so I decided it would be better off to get things moving quickly. About the only times Cicero's not in a Sanctuary are during Delayed Burial and running for his life during the Cure for Madness. Everyone and their mother uses Delayed Burial for their Cicero AUs (including me in With A Dragonborn Like This) - I thought I'd do something different and use the other end of Cicero's story arc.

Running, running, running, fleeing through the night, fleeing north, for Sanctuary and home, racing through Skyrim's Pine Forest as if Dagon himself were after him.

Cicero would have almost preferred Mehrunes Dagon to his actual pursuer. Arnbjorn was fast, strong, indefatigable and relentless in pursuit of the man who'd dared to draw a blade on his wife. That of course was poor foolish Cicero, who had heard the pretender Astrid slandering dear Mother, and lost his temper. While Cicero couldn't say he regretted any of it, this did mean that he was now running for his life with an angry werewolf close behind, and poor Mother left alone and defenceless at Falkreath Sanctuary with no Keeper to guard and protect her.

The forest fell away as he emerged on to the tundra, Whiterun glittering up ahead. Maybe he could go there, hide himself somehow – but no. Arnbjorn had been a Companion. He'd know the city, be able to sniff out poor Cicero. No, no, Cicero couldn't stop. He had to keep running, even though his chest was burning and his legs were about to give out. 

He fled on, sprinting over the bridge, fighting the urge to look behind, hearing the growls and knowing Arnbjorn would be on him soon. He reached for his dagger, realising he'd have to stand and fight, and knowing it was hopeless. He was good... but unarmoured, up against a werewolf? Madness!

Then salvation appeared in the form of two people up ahead. Two women, and one was dressed in some sort of steel plated armour that Cicero had only ever seen in a museum. Blades armour?

He wasn't sure and didn't care. All he knew was that there were two armoured warriors up ahead and they might be persuaded to help poor exhausted Cicero.

“Ruuuunnn!!!! Werewooolf!!!” he shrieked.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Nearly home now. Melinda Stormheart, Dragonborn and Harbinger of the Companions, had been off in Dawnstar, saving the place from the nightmares that had been plaguing it, and dropping in on this museum of the Mythic Dawn that she'd heard about. Neither she nor Aela had been terribly impressed with it, and Melinda's personal view was that some things were best forgotten.

With that done, they were heading back to Whiterun. Breezehome awaited, and Melinda could hardly wait to put her feet up and regale Lydia with the tale of how they'd saved Dawnstar and destroyed the Skull of Corruption.

That was when they saw him. A short man in a jester's outfit, sprinting across the tundra towards them, screaming at them to run, there was a werewolf on the loose. Sure enough, behind him was a huge werewolf tearing up the road in his wake.

“One of ours?” Melinda asked. She'd taken well to the beast blood, but she was still new in the ways of the wolf, and Aela was far more familiar with what the others looked like as wolves.

“Not any more,” said Aela grimly, raising her bow to shoot. That was all Melinda needed to hear. A feral wolf then. Just another beast to be put down. Grinning, she donned her ebony helmet and unshouldered Wuuthrad. 

“VICTORY OR SOVNGARDE!!!” she shouted, racing towards the wolf. The little jester shrieked and dived out of the way, crouching by the side of a large rock with his dagger out. Melinda really wasn't sure it would be much help against a werewolf, but she didn't have time to think about it. The werewolf was bearing down on her, and as it closed the gap, she swung Wuuthrad, relying on her armour to keep the beast's claws from doing too much damage. At least she need not worry about infection.

Aela's arrows smacked into the beast's side as Melinda hacked away. The werewolf fought back hard, but Melinda was hardly a pushover. One blast of Unrelenting Force, and it was on its back, reeling from the shock. Before it could get up again, Melinda had swung Wuuthrad down and it was all over. The beast lay dead. Melinda wiped her axe blade down and slung the weapon back over her shoulder, before removing her helmet and turning to see if the jester was all right. 

~~~~~~~~~~ 

Cicero watched from where he'd hidden himself, fully expecting Arnbjorn to kill the warriors, but not without being weakened himself and easy prey for Cicero to finish off.

What he'd not expected was for this woman to leap forward and start hacking Arnbjorn to pieces with that very sharp axe of hers. He'd definitely not expected her to knock him off his feet with a Shout. And that finish... worthy of a professional executioner. The whole thing had been brutal. Violent. Bloody. He'd never seen anything so beautiful in his life. 

Then she took off her helmet and turned his way, grinning from ear to ear, her face flushed from the kill, and Cicero immediately revised that opinion, feeling his knees go weak and his trousers go tight. His type had always been strong women with the skill to butcher an opponent in seconds, and here was one, all confidence and pride and about three inches taller than him like most Nords, and she'd just saved his life. By Sithis, Cicero wanted her.

“Hello there, stranger. Are you all right?”

Cicero could listen to that voice all day. Doomed, he was absolutely doomed, especially as Arnbjorn was now dead and Astrid would never stop now, not until Cicero lay dead at her feet. Cicero wasn't entirely sure of his ability to fight Astrid and certainly not the entire Dark Brotherhood at once – but this woman might be able to protect him. She could protect him from anything, Cicero was quite sure.

Before she could react, Cicero had pounced, clinging on to her and squeezing her tight, head resting on her shoulder.

“Thank you thank you thank you!” he cried. “Cicero cannot thank the kind and valiant warrior enough for saving him! How can Cicero ever even begin to repay you?”

Melinda had expected gratitude but not quite this much enthusiasm. She patted the man's back, feeling rather awkward.

“That's quite alright, Aela and I needed the practice,” she said, glancing helplessly at Aela. Her Shield-Sister just shrugged and returned to examining the corpse. Typical Aela, great in a fight, terrible at dealing with people. Melinda turned her attention back to the jester, who was still clinging to her, grinning as he gazed cheerfully up at her. He wasn't quite as short as he'd first appeared, but Melinda was tall for a woman, even a Nord, and this man couldn't be more than about five foot eight, possibly five foot nine at most. He had dark brown eyes, long red hair, and a finely chiselled face with that sharp Cyrodilic jawline that a lot of Imperial men shared, and all things considered he'd be quite attractive were it not for the fact he clearly wasn't all there. Still, Melinda had always been taught to show compassion for those less fortunate, so she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“So where were you heading, Mr, er, Cicero, was it?”

“That's right!” the jester giggled, letting her go and doing a little dance on the spot. “Humble Cicero is at your service, oh great and mighty warrior lady!”

“Melinda,” she told him, blushing a little at the compliment. “My name's Melinda and this here is Aela the Huntress.” Aela glanced up from where she was hauling the dead werewolf off the road and into a hollow where it wouldn't be seen, and nodded at Cicero.

“We're with the Companions,” Melinda continued. “Have you heard of them?” Dressed like he was, Melinda had a feeling he'd not been in Skyrim long – must have come from Cyrodiil recently, much like she had herself not so very long ago.

“Ooh! Oooohhh! Cicero has heard of the Companions!” Cicero squealed. “Cicero has always wanted to visit Whiterun, but he never had the chance. He was heading for Dawnstar, but that was to get away from the nasty werewolf. Now he's not being hounded by that horrid beast, well... Cicero isn't sure where to go now.” Not to Dawnstar Sanctuary, that was certain. Cicero had belatedly remembered that, fool that he was, he'd written the passphrase in his journal. A journal now lying scattered around his old room at Falkreath, and if Astrid had even the slightest inkling of intelligence, which she did, she'd be sending someone out to Dawnstar before long to find him. He couldn't return there now.

“Well, how about you come with us then?” said Melinda, feeling a bit sorry for the man. He looked so forlorn and pathetic, and he'd clearly been on the run for some time with that werewolf after him, if the state of his clothes was anything to go by, and the fact he didn't seem to have anything else on him but said clothes and his dagger. A very sharp looking dagger, it had to be said. But Skyrim was a wild and dangerous place to be when you were on your own with no armour and only a knife to defend yourself with. “We've got some spare beds at Jorrvaskr, you can stay with us for a day or two until you've got yourself sorted? If you're handy with that blade, we might even have some work for you.”

That got Cicero's attention all right. Joining the Companions. Hmm. An unexpected course of action, to be sure. On the other hand, he didn't see many other options presenting themselves. And he certainly could handle a blade as well as anyone. Not to mention Astrid would never think to look for him there. Plus it meant he got to be in close proximity to Melinda, Melinda, pretty Melinda with her lovely blonde hair and her deathbell blue eyes and her sweet, sweet smile...

He sighed happily and nodded in acquiescence, falling in behind them, skipping merrily along in their wake as Melinda and Aela led the way back to Whiterun.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Harbinger, I must ask, are you absolutely sure you know what you are doing?” Aela asked. They'd got back to Whiterun half an hour ago, settling Cicero in Kodlak's old bed so he could have a little privacy and so he wasn't woken up in the dormitory by Torvar or someone else demanding to know who he was. Now Aela and Melinda were sitting at the small table outside the room, sharing a quiet glass of ale before turning in themselves.

“No,” Melinda sighed. “I'm really not. But look at him, Aela, he was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. The poor man must have been running for hours with a werewolf on his heels. No mean feat to keep that up. I'm Harbinger and Dragonborn, I help the needy and make Skyrim a better place. It's why Talos and Akatosh gave me the powers I have, to help people. And he needed help. He's got nothing, Aela. I couldn't leave him out there all alone.”

“Sometimes I think you are too compassionate,” said Aela, remembering all the little favours and quests Melinda had done for people in the short time Aela had known her. It wasn't a bad thing, not at all, but Melinda was a sucker for pretty much anyone with a sob-story and Aela didn't like to see her friend get taken advantage of. There was something off about that jester, and it wasn't just the madness. Aela was a born predator and she could always tell whether someone was weak or strong, hunter or prey. Despite the singing and the dancing and the laughter, there was nothing weak about Cicero. Maybe he'd been the pursued that time... but Aela didn't think that was usually the case.

“Harbinger... there's something you should know. That werewolf... it was no feral beast. I recognised him.”

“Recognised him? Aela! You said he wasn't a Companion!” Melinda cried, horrified. She'd cured Vilkas of his lycanthropy, but Farkas still had the beast blood. Stendarr's mercy, please don't let her have killed Farkas...

“He isn't,” said Aela gently. “Wasn't. At least... not any more. He used to be, a good decade ago now. Did well, fought hard, got admitted to the Circle. Skjor and I used to hunt with him. He and I – we used to do more than that.” A faint flush of scarlet coloured Aela's cheeks at the admission, but it wasn't in the way of the Companions to withhold important pieces of information from their Harbinger. Keeping her crusade against the Silver Hand secret had got Kodlak killed. Aela wouldn't make the same mistake with Melinda. “His name was Arnbjorn, and he was the first person I ever turned after Skjor gave me the blood. We were close. We might even have married – but he was always fierce and quick-tempered, and the blood made him worse. He got harder, crueller, spiteful and vindictive when he'd never been before. Relations became strained with all of us, and I told him I didn't want him any more. That didn't help. We sent him on a dispute resolution job, and he nearly killed the man. So Skjor and Kodlak decided he wouldn't be sent out on jobs involving people any more, just beasts. When we told him that, he went berserk. Nearly tore the whole hall apart. It took all Farkas and Vilkas' strength to subdue him – they've both still got the scars. He finally calmed down and told us all that if we were such milk-drinkers we couldn't stand a bit of blood, he'd leave and find some brothers and sisters with spines. None of us ever saw him again. Not until tonight.”

“And he was hunting Cicero,” said Melinda thoughtfully. “But why? And how do we know Arnbjorn never went feral? If you all lost touch, how would you know what had happened to him?”

“Feral wolves don't survive ten weeks, never mind ten years,” Aela said sombrely. “If he'd truly gone wild, we'd have heard about it and been called in to sort it out. To keep out of sight and out of trouble for so long? No, he'd kept his mind, of that I'm sure. Melinda, he said he was going looking for brothers and sisters who had no qualms about killing. I think he found them.”

There was only one organisation that Melinda could think of that murdered freely and without conscience and referred to themselves as brothers and sisters in a dark parody of the Companions' own set-up. 

“You don't mean... the Dark Brotherhood? Are you telling me there's a contract out on Cicero??”

“Could be,” said Aela softly. “If he'd annoyed the wrong person. There's a Dark Brotherhood group operating in Skyrim, that's well known. All their other Sanctuaries seem to have disappeared, but there's murders in Skyrim every year that everyone knows are Brotherhood work.”

“Mara's mercy,” Melinda breathed. “That poor, poor man! Aela, we have to do something. What sort of country can Skyrim claim to be if a man can't even speak his mind without some small-minded coward paying the Brotherhood to do their dirty work for them?”

Aela could only groan. This was exactly the sort of hare-brained, hot-headed idealistic thinking that was typical of Melinda. 

“And do what exactly?” Aela hissed. “No one knows who they are! Or where they live! They strike from the shadows, bring down their prey and flee without a trace. I'd almost admire their skill, were it not for the fact they're killers without conscience.”

“Whereas we're killers with consciences,” said Melinda, fingering her ale tankard as she looked at Wuuthrad, propped up in the corner. She recalled Eorlund's words about it – a tool that was meant to be used. There was only one use for an axe like Wuuthrad and it wasn't chopping firewood. 

“He stays here,” said Melinda firmly. “Not even the Dark Brotherhood are going to attack us, and there's usually someone around at all hours of the night. If they don't get the message from Arnbjorn never coming back, we'll be ready for them. In the mean time, that's a nice dagger Cicero has. I think he might know a thing or two about how to use it. We'll see if he's any good at our sort of work in the morning.”

Aela sipped her mead, a horrible sense of foreboding settling over her. Melinda was on a mission, she could tell. Taking on the Dark Brotherhood? This was insane. But she'd seen that look in the Harbinger's eyes before and it usually meant trouble. If Melinda won this fight, the glory would be considerable. But it was a pretty big if.

~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Cicero's eyes fluttered open as he slowly drifted back to consciousness. It was nice and warm and comfy, much nicer than his usual room with the rickety wooden bed and the hole in the roof. Had Astrid been in a good mood and decided to have it fixed?

Astrid. The pretender. Slanderer of the Night Mother. Who he'd tried to kill. Memory came flooding back, and he sat up, hunting for his dagger and his clothes. Come to think of it, where were his dagger and clothes?

“Easy there.” A voice like warm honey settled in his ears and made all the hairs on his arms stand up on end. “You had a rough day yesterday. How are you feeling, Cicero?”

It was her. The beautiful blonde goddess who'd hacked Arnbjorn to pieces before his very eyes. She was sitting on the bed, her armour exchanged for a simple blue dress that matched her eyes and a pretty silver and amethyst necklace around her neck. He'd not dreamed her after all. She was real! Real and right here!

“Hello,” he whispered, unable to take his eyes off her. He glanced around the room. Underground but with proper stone walls, not a cave. Well-outfitted with expensive wooden furniture, a bed bigger than Astrid's and probably comfier, this must be her room, surely. Her bed. He was tucked up in her bed. Had they....? No, no, he would have remembered that. As it was, he barely remembered how he got here, he'd been so tired. 

“Hello yourself,” she grinned back at him. “Feeling better? You were exhausted last night. Aela and I had to practically carry you in here, you were so sleepy.” This was true. The three of them had walked back to Whiterun, Cicero whistling and humming to himself from behind the two women, then it had gone mysteriously quiet. Melinda had turned around to see Cicero collapsed on the road about a hundred feet behind them, and she'd feared the worst... but he'd been curled up on the ground fast asleep. She and Aela had sat with him for a few minutes until he woke up, blinking sleepily much like he was now. They'd helped him to his feet and walked him back to Jorrvaskr, nudging him awake until finally they'd got him to the Harbinger's room and let him collapse on the bed. 

“Cicero has felt worse,” said Cicero, still looking a little confused. Melinda resisted the urge to ruffle his hair and pinch his cheek. She didn't think a man in his late thirties, as Cicero appeared to be, would really appreciate it, adorable though he looked. “What time is it? Cicero should probably get up and be on his way...” He tried to swing his legs out of the bed, winced and promptly curled back up under the blankets. Poor thing, his muscles must be in agony. She'd offer to massage him, but experience had taught her it was generally unwise to offer this to strange men. They always got the wrong idea. Maybe she'd get Farkas to do it later.

“It's five o'clock in the evening. You've been asleep for fifteen hours and yes, your muscles are going to hurt if you'd been running... how long had you been running for?”

“Cicero doesn't remember,” he whispered, lying back with his eyes closed, grimacing as he wriggled his toes and rubbed his thighs. “A few hours, he thinks. He'd been running all the way from Falkreath, but he had a head start on the werewolf.”

“Falkreath??” Melinda cried, horrified. “You poor thing! No wonder you were so worn out. Cicero, don't you worry about going anywhere. You stay here as long as you want. Now your clothes are with Tilma at the moment being washed and mended, but I've borrowed some off Athis, and I've got some scaled armour that might fit you. They're in the dresser over there, you rest and get dressed when you're ready... Cicero?”

Cicero had gone very pale, lifted the blankets, looked down at himself and shrieked.

“My clothes. MY CLOTHES! CICERO IS NAKED!” He looked up at her in unbridled horror, cheeks a deep shade of crimson. “Who undressed me? Who has taken them? Oh sweet Mo – Mara, please tell me it was not you.”

Ah. Melinda should perhaps have recalled that Imperials by and large weren't nearly so open about things physical as Nords and tended towards the prudish. 

“Cicero, please don't be embarrassed, I've seen men naked before,” she told him. Not the best thing to say, as it turned out. Cicero only howled even louder and dived beneath the covers, whimpering.

“Oh Si- Stendarr,” he wailed. “This will not do, this will not do at all! This isn't how Cicero wished to be remembered! No no no no no, Cicero cannot have strange women staring at his gentlemanly parts! Wrong wrong wrong!”

“Cicero,” said Melinda gently, placing a hand on what was probably his shoulder, it was a little difficult to tell. “It's alright. It was my Shield-Brother Farkas who undressed you. We left you to sleep dressed at first, but this morning when you still showed no signs of waking, we thought we should at least see to your clothes while you slept. I was outside and didn't look, promise.”

Cicero's eyes peeked above the sheets. “Promise?” he whispered. Melinda nodded, trying not to laugh.

“Promise. I'm very sorry, I can see it must be a shock to wake up naked in a strange bed with no real memory of how you got there.”

Cicero laughed nervously, slowly re-emerging. “Sweet Melinda should know that that is not a scenario Cicero often finds himself in. It is very rare that Cicero wakes up in someone else's bed. Cicero is not... Cicero isn't... Cicero isn't a libertine!”

That Melinda had gathered. He seemed too innocent and childlike to be the type who habitually went bedhopping. In fact, it was rather sweet to have a man around who didn't cover up the awkwardness by claiming to be some sort of rake who had this happen to him on a regular basis.

“Well, you're quite safe here,” she told him. “No one will hurt you – I've already told the others you're my guest. You can stay here as long as you like.”

He smiled then, a slightly nervous smile, but a proper smile nonetheless. “Thank you, dear lady. You have been most kind and compassionate to poor homeless and hunted Cicero. He won't forget your kindness in a hurry.”

“Melinda,” she told him. “It's just Melinda. We don't stand on ceremony here.”

“Dear lady Melinda,” he replied, lips curving as he lay back, finally relaxing. “It's a pretty name. It suits you.”

Now who was blushing? _Stop it at once,_ she told herself, _he's Imperial, they can't even breathe without flirting. He's just grateful and doing what comes naturally. I'm sure he doesn't mean it like that._ Well, he probably didn't anyway. Leaving him to rest, Melinda headed back upstairs. Time enough to see what he was really made of.


	2. Dispute Resolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cicero gets his first real job with the Companions. It does not go well.

Days passed, and Cicero was soon up and about. To say his behaviour was odd was a bit of an understatement to say the least. Still, there was no denying he brightened the place up. Always cheerful, always polite, complimenting people left, right and centre, and seemingly obsessed with tidying the place up. Sure, Vignar didn't seem to think much of him, but Vignar rarely thought much of anyone, and there'd been that little incident when he'd told Njada off for leaving her things lying around for Tilda to pick up, and couldn't she clean up after herself, but Melinda was hard-pressed to say Cicero was exactly in the wrong there. He'd made a firm friend of Ria already, cooing excitedly to see a fellow Imperial. They'd spent the next hour chatting about Cyrodiil, and then Melinda had been surprised to see them have a little sparring match, which had lasted about five seconds before Cicero had called things to a halt, exclaiming that that wouldn't do at all. Within minutes, he'd been correcting her grip, her stance and showing her a few moves that would have put Skjor to shame, confirming Melinda's suspicions that he'd been a fighter at one point. She'd examined his hands while he'd slept that first day here, looking for a warrior's calluses. She'd been surprised at how soft his hands were. He would have had to oil them at least weekly and not do any manual labour or blade work to get that effect. Still, he had a few small calluses that might have been caused by occasional dagger-wielding. He'd been a fighter once, but clearly retired for some years. Surprising. He wasn't even that old, and wasn't carrying any old war-wounds. Like so much about Cicero, it was a mystery.

What was not a mystery was the provenance of the little bouquet she'd found on the desk outside her room. Mountain flowers, lavender, deathbell and some tundra cotton, all arranged around a single glowing nirnroot and tied with a red ribbon, with a little card reading “ _Swords are shiny and blood is red, thanks to you, Cicero's not dead xx._ ”

“Flowers, Harbinger? You have an admirer, I see,” said Aela, glancing over her shoulder, grin in place. “Who is it, as if I can't guess.”

“Who do you think?” Melinda sighed, sinking into her chair. Cicero had only been here a week and in that time, it had become blatantly apparent that either his previous life had been so horrific that he could hardly restrain himself from being pathetically grateful, or he had a crush on her. Whenever she was in the room, his eyes were constantly on her and he was rarely far from her side, offering to clean her armour or sharpen her blades, running to fetch her more mead or bring her food, or just sitting by her side and chattering away about nothing, or paying her lots of compliments in the process of drawing stories about her adventures as Harbinger and Dragonborn out of her. It was very flattering, but a little too much – so much so she'd slipped off to Breezehome to get some peace. It hadn't worked. Within half an hour he'd followed her there, getting in somehow and proceeding to inspect her bookshelves, read her entire collected volumes of _The Wolf Queen_ , raid her alchemy collection and proceed to use up most of her ingredients in the process of brewing what turned out to be a deadly poison that he'd presented to her as a gift. When she'd told him she didn't really use poison on her blades, he'd looked so crestfallen she'd taken it anyway, promising him that next time she had a really dangerous foe to deal with, she'd use it. Poison really wasn't in keeping with the spirit of the Companions, but she appreciated the effort. Today he'd been out collecting alchemy ingredients to replace the ones he'd used making her that poison. Clearly this was the result.

“And if I spy a singing bird, I'll snap its neck before it's heard,” came the familiar voice as the jester himself pranced down the hall. Typical Cicero, either appearing before you even knew he was there, or audible a mile off.

“Hello, hello Harbinger!” he cooed on seeing her. “Ooh, what's this, has someone been leaving you flowers? Now who could that possibly be?”

“Cicero, I know it was you,” Melinda sighed wearily. Cicero giggled, looking shyly up at her through fluttering eyelashes.

“Oh Harbinger, you're so clever,” he laughed. “Fancy you working that out!”

“Cicero, you wrote your name in the poem!” Melinda said, silently praying to Talos for strength. Behind her, she heard Aela trying desperately hard not to laugh. 

“Well, yes, Cicero did,” Cicero admitted. “Cicero was out collecting ingredients for sweet Melinda to use in her important alchemy brewing, and he left most of them in the cupboard by her bed, but he thought these were pretty enough to be arranged nicely for her. Melinda has been so sweet and kind and patient with poor Cicero, saving him and letting him stay here with all her brothers and sisters. Cicero wanted to give something back to her as a little thank you. Does my Harbinger like them?”

Melinda knew she should be sitting him down and having a firm talk with him about how this sort of thing was inappropriate and wrong and how he should move on and look elsewhere. She knew she should... but the fact was she just couldn't bring herself to do it. He was just too sweet and adorable, and no one had brought her flowers in years.

“They're lovely. Thank you,” she told him. Cicero went pink, looking away shyly as he shuffled his feet.

“It was nothing,” he murmured. It was as he turned away from her she noticed fresh tears in his sleeve and a bandage underneath.

“What happened to your arm??” she gasped. He'd definitely been fine when he'd left that morning.

“Nothing, nothing,” Cicero said quickly. “Cicero had a little trouble with the sabre cat when he tried to get the teeth and eyes off it, but the matter was soon dealt with. Cicero begs sweet Melinda not to give it any further mind. Cicero has suffered much worse before now.”

“You fought a sabre cat?!” Melinda cried, unable to decide whether she should be horrified or impressed. “Dressed like that? Please tell me you had something other than your dagger with you.”

Cicero muttered something indistinct about feeling more comfortable with daggers than longer blades.

“So he's recovered then,” said Aela faintly.

“It would appear so,” said Melinda, hardly daring to ask what had become of the sabre cat. To attack one armed with just a dagger and live to tell with only a few scratches – that was no mean feat. Definitely a fighter, and one who'd lost none of his edge. It was clearly time to start giving Cicero some proper work to do.

“Cicero,” Melinda said, straightening up and drawing on her Harbinger voice, “you seem to be settling in well enough, apart from that whole doing backflips on the table and falling in Vilkas' lap incident, but we'll overlook that as high spirits. If you're going to stay here, it's about time you started earning your keep. I've got a little job for you.”

“A job? Ooh! What sort of job? Does it involve stab- er, does it involve bringing honour and glory to the Companions?” said Cicero, hastily correcting himself just in time. He'd been paying enough attention to pick up the euphemisms the Companions seemed to like to use for killing people. So far he'd worked out that honour seemed to mean 'murder everything in your way' and glory seemed to refer to 'bathing in the blood of your enemies'. An odd choice of wording but each to their own.

“With any luck, yes,” said Melinda, blissfully unaware of the Assassin-Companion phrasebook Cicero was compiling. “It's a little dispute resolution matter.”

Dispute resolution! Cicero knew that one. The Brotherhood used that one all the time.

“Don't worry,” Cicero assured Melinda. “When Cicero is finished with the offender, they will never bother anyone again. Who is it?”

“Mikael the bard in the Bannered Mare,” Melinda told him. “He's been hassling Carlotta who works in the market, won't take no for an answer. I need you to go over there and point out to him the error of his ways. Give him a bit of a lecture on the proper way to treat women. Look tough, make sure he knows we're serious, but keep that knife of yours sheathed, all right? I don't want to hear about a killing, understand?”

Cicero scratched his head, just to make sure he'd got that right. “No... killing?”

“No killing,” Melinda confirmed. “Bounties cost money and besides, that's not how we operate. We're law-abiding warriors on the side of the Aedra. Just rough him up a little, leave a little reminder to show some respect in future. Nothing more, got it?”

“Got it,” Cicero sighed. How very disappointing. Still, there were many many ways left to hurt someone without even coming close to killing them. He'd just have to be a little creative, that was all. Cracking his knuckles, he set off for the inn.

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Melinda stared at Cicero across the mead hall, unable to believe what she'd been told. Around her, Companions fled for cover, all being well familiar by now with their Harbinger's temper. Cicero seemed utterly unmoved – in fact, he seemed rather pleased with himself.

“But Cicero didn't kill him!” Cicero protested. “Cicero roughed him up, just like you asked, and made sure he knew never to harass nice Carlotta again. Cicero even took him to the Temple of Kynareth for healing afterwards.”

Melinda brandished the letter from Danica detailing the extent of Mikael's injuries.

“Two teeth yanked out with pliers. Three fingers broken. Both hands stabbed straight through with a dagger. Three cracked ribs. Two black eyes. Bruising everywhere. Jaw and both shoulders dislocated. Clear evidence of lightning magic used on genitalia. Something involving a rat and a cage with coals on it?”

“Cicero didn't need to use the rat in the end, he broke well before then,” Cicero volunteered, but Melinda was too angry to listen. 

“Severe haemorrhaging to the rectal area caused by foreign body insertion, specifically the blunt end of an ale bottle???” Melinda shouted, the Thu'um lacing her words and causing the walls of Jorrvaskr to tremble.

“Cicero thought Mikael might listen to reason if he knew what it was like to have an unwanted object inserted inside him?” Cicero said nervously. Something had clearly gone wrong somewhere but he couldn't for the life of him fathom what. He'd done what she wanted, hadn't he? He'd taught Mikael a lesson without killing him. Wasn't that what he was meant to do?

“THAT IS NOT HOW THE COMPANIONS OPERATE!!!” Melinda roared across the room, the Thu'um sending Cicero crashing into the far wall and slumping to the floor. “I said beat him up, not torture him!!!”

Ah. Cicero mentally revised his Assassin-Companion Phrasebook. Apparently 'rough him up a little' did not mean a torture session after all. Well, how was he to know? Honestly, he was beginning to wonder what sort of organisation Melinda was running here.

Cicero looked up to see various Companions all staring at him with varying degrees of fascinated horror, the same sort of fascinated horror with which people watched a particularly impressive sabre cat mauling – admiration of the skill and being very glad it wasn't them on the receiving end. Melinda herself, decked out in her Akaviri armour, was glaring down at him, fury flashing in her eyes. Cicero could only be grateful that having screamed at him for torturing someone, she probably wouldn't do the same to him as punishment. Which was a bit of a shame when he came to think of it. He was fairly certain he could hold out a lot longer than Mikael had.

“We are an honourable fellowship of mercenaries and adventurers,” Melinda growled. “We help people. We solve their problems, deal with outlaws, send messages to those the guards can't do anything about, rescue those in trouble, put down vermin. If someone needs dealing with, we fight them on an equal footing, in honourable battle! We _do not torture people_. Am I clear on this??”

Cicero nodded, whimpering. He still wasn't entirely certain how what Melinda was saying the Companions did was all that different from the Brotherhood's goals, but he got the no torture message loud and clear. 

“If you are going to stay here, you are going to have to learn a thing or two about honour,” said Melinda coldly, striding down the hall towards him like some vengeful fury. Cicero felt his breath catch in his throat. He'd thought she was pretty when she smiled at him, but this was something else. This was death incarnate striding towards him – and Cicero felt ready to meet it with open arms. Sithis, she was _beautiful_ when she was angry. Gasping for breath, he lay back, his cock hard and ready, hoping and praying to have violent hands laid on him. _Please oh please oh please, punish me hard..._

She stopped about three feet away, arms folded.

“You're going to have to learn a few things about what we do and more importantly, why we do it,” she said, her foot tapping impatiently on the floor. “Clearly this was the wrong job for you. I don't know where you were trained and I'm not sure I want to, but clearly sending you to deal with ordinary townsfolk is not nearly enough of a challenge for you. Obviously I'm going to have to find you some work that's more at your level. Aela!”

Aela detached herself from the pillar she was leaning against and sauntered over, looking just a bit too smug for Cicero's liking.

“Do you have guidance for me, Harbinger?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact I do,” said Melinda, her anger fading as she looked thoughtful. “I think it's time for Cicero's Trial.”

Cicero did not like the sound of that. Aela also looked a little dubious and judging from the raised voices around him, so were a number of other people.

“Harbinger, with all due respect, you cannot be serious -” That was the Dunmer, Athis.

“He's only been here a week!” Njada that – well, Cicero had never liked her anyway.

“Melinda, have you seen what he did to Mikael? Danica says it'll be weeks before he can play the lute again. You cannot possibly be giving him the opportunity to become one of us!” That was Vilkas and while the sentiment wasn't unexpected, the actual words were baffling. Become a full Companion? Could it be – could it be the Trial wasn't actually a lengthy and degrading torture session after all? Which again was a bit of a shame, he wouldn't object too hard if Melinda was carrying it out... but his mind was recalled to the present by Melinda speaking again.

“I am perfectly serious,” said Melinda calmly. “If Cicero wants to stay here, he'll need to prove he's actually got honour. So I'm sending him on his Trial. If he passes, he gets to stay with us as our Shield-Brother. If not... then he leaves Jorrvaskr for good.”

Cicero swallowed, trying to dislodge the lump in his throat that had suddenly appeared. Leave Jorrvaskr for good? Never.... never see heavenly Melinda again? He wanted to sob and scream and beg forgiveness at her feet, but somehow he didn't think it would go down well. It didn't seem very in keeping with the spirit of the Companions.

“What does poor Cicero need to do?” he asked, dreading the answer.

“There's a cave just north-east of Whiterun, Shimmermist Cave,” said Melinda. “It's been infested with Falmer and they've been preying on travellers. They need dealing with. Well, Cicero? Are you up for travelling there and killing them all?”

Cicero blinked. This was his Trial? A test designed to prove his worthiness to join the Companions? He was under the impression it was going to be difficult and dangerous. As it was, go into a cave and kill everything in sight?

“Of course!” he purred, hauling himself to his feet. “Melinda need not ask twice. Would you like Cicero to leave now or can he wait until morning?”

“In the morning will be fine,” said Melinda, pleased by this enthusiasm but feeling a little uneasy. Surely there should be a hint of anxiety at going into a cave of Falmer to kill them all? “Aela will be going with you to make sure you don't do anything that might dishonour the Companions. Is that all right with you, Aela?”

Aela just looked back, raising an eyebrow. “Shimmermist Cave. Isn't that the job Vilkas gave you two weeks ago?”

“Now that you mention it, I do indeed recall asking our dear Harbinger to see to it not so long ago,” said Vilkas, stroking his beard. “Harbinger, why are you giving your jobs to Cicero?”

“Because I've not had time,” said Melinda testily. “I'm the Dragonborn, I can't be expected to rush around seeing to everyone's problems at once. It needs doing, I've not had time, I'm giving it to Cicero as his Trial. End of discussion. Aela, are you willing to be Cicero's Shield-Sister in this, or shall I send Farkas instead?”

“No, that's quite all right, I'm rather curious to see what he'll do to them.” Aela grinned at Cicero, a wolfish smile that did not bode well. Cicero however could be predatory too and he just grinned back at her.

“Cicero welcomes the company then, sister. He just hopes you are comfortable with blood.”

Aela threw back her head and laughed. “I like him, Melinda. I hope he passes.” She turned back to Cicero. “Better rest well tonight, brother. I'll see you out by the Gildergreen tomorrow morning. Be ready.” She turned left, presumably to make her own preparations. Everyone else, now that the fun was over, began to drift off back to the living quarters or the training courtyard or to a seat at the food table. Everyone but Melinda, who was still staring at Cicero. He was pulling himself to his feet, brushing his clothes down, looking a bit shaken up but otherwise fine. Certainly in better shape than Mikael, that was for sure. Melinda was starting to wonder what on earth she'd taken in and who he'd been before. She didn't think he was a professional merryman, despite the outfit. Really, after today's little display, she should really be showing him the door. However, she couldn't quite bring herself to do it. Partly because something might happen to him if he was all on his own out there... and partly because at least if he was here, she could keep an eye on him and stop him happening to other people. So his Trial it was. She supposed she'd better kit him out properly then.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Turned out that in her adventures, Melinda had acquired more than enough things to equip Cicero with. She'd already provided him with a Dwarven sword, several healing and stamina potions, and her spare Elvish bow with enough Orcish arrows to keep him supplied for some time.

“Light or heavy armour for you?” she asked, surveying the contents of her storage chest back at Breezehome. He didn't really look like the heavy armour type, but she had to ask.

“Light armour please, Harbinger. Cicero doesn't know how you manage with all that metal hanging off you! You must be very strong.”

“I'm used to it,” Melinda replied. She didn't really understand how people could go into battle with just fur and leather to keep the blades off, but each to their own. Light armour it was then. Scaled armour, matching boots and a set of Elven gauntlets with an alchemy enchantment that she kept for crafting purposes. It didn't really go, but Cicero didn't seem to mind. Now if only she could track down some headgear.

“I don't think I've got any headgear in light armour,” she said apologetically. “I've got an Orcish helmet you could have?”

Cicero shook his head. “Oh no, Harbinger. Cicero is fine as he is. He has his hat. It's always served him well before.”

“It won't serve you well if someone hits you over the head,” Melinda pointed out. Cicero just grinned, a disturbing feral curve of his lips made worse by the lamplight. 

“Don't worry, sweet Melinda. They will have to see Cicero coming for that.”

Exactly what she'd been afraid of. “Cicero,” she sighed, “you're meant to be trying to prove your honour! It's not honourable to sneak up on people and stab them before they know you're there.”

Cicero frowned, looking very confused. “But Harbinger, if you want someone to die, it's a lot easier to stab them before they know you're there than after. They fight back otherwise!”

“That's the point!” Melinda cried. “We're the Companions. We're not some ragtag bunch of assassins. We're warriors. Fighters. If we get the chance, heroes. We're strong and we're honourable, and we're not afraid of our foe fighting back because we know we can win anyway. Even if we don't, it's better to die in battle against a stronger foe and be remembered as brave and honourable than to win by underhand means and have everyone mistrust you. Glory lasts forever, Cicero, even after we die.”

Cicero didn't look terribly convinced by this line of reasoning but he didn't say anything. He just clutched his hat tighter. Melinda sighed and gave in.

“Fine, fine, keep the hat if it means that much to you. We've all got our lucky charms, I suppose.”

Cicero brightened up at this and promised her he'd kill lots and lots of Falmer for her. Melinda showed him to the door, somehow believing him. She just hoped Aela knew what she was being let in for.


	3. Beast Revealed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cicero's Trial ends a little more eventfully than expected, but it's Melinda's fears that prove more challenging to deal with, especially when her own secrets start coming out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for Cicero getting pinned down and licked by a frisky werewolf, but he doesn't come to any harm, fear not.

Melinda kicked the door open, staggering into the Temple of Kynareth. Danica looked up from where she was tending to an impossibly fragile red-haired figure lying on one of the healing altars. She'd just finished wrapping the last of the bandages around the burns.

“Sweet lady Mara, what happened?” Melinda cried. 

“I'm not entirely sure, your other friend was a bit too worked up to say,” said Danica. “But the burns look like scalding from steam damage.”

Steam damage? That didn't sound like the Falmer at all.

“Will she be alright?” Melinda whispered, staring down at Aela's unconscious form. Danica nodded.

“Yes, I think so. Might have a few scars, but she'll live. That fellow who brought her in, Cicero, is it? Seems to know a thing or two about Restoration magic, and apparently used his entire stock of healing potions on her before bringing her here. Claims he ran here with her all the way from Shimmermist Cave. I don't know whether to believe that or not, but whatever he's done, it's saved her life.”

Melinda thanked the priestess, asked her to send word as soon as Aela woke up, and left the Temple, making a mental note to make an extra large donation to Temple funds. What with one thing and another, they deserved it.

Cicero was sitting outside under the Gildergreen, head in his hands. When he saw Melinda, he leapt to his feet and launched himself into her arms, clinging on to her and wailing piteously. Melinda realised to her horror that the poor man was shaking all over. Without even thinking about it, she put her arms around him and stroked his hair. She'd not realised he and Aela were that close.

“Cicero is sorry, Harbinger!” he cried. “Cicero has failed you! Please don't send him away! He didn't mean for nice Aela to get hurt!”

“Failed...?” Melinda tried to work out what on earth he was talking about. He'd burst into Jorrvaskr a few minutes ago, near tears and wailing that Aela was hurt, Aela was injured, it was all Cicero's fault, he'd taken her to Danica at the Temple of Kynareth, please not to be angry with poor Cicero. Melinda hadn't waited to hear him out before running for the Temple as fast as she could to see if Aela was all right. That done, it appeared that perhaps Aela wasn't the only one in need of care and attention.

“Cicero, why would I be angry?” she asked, leading him to sit next to her on the bench, still with her arms around him. “Danica says you saved Aela's life, I should be thanking you!”

“Because it was all Cicero's fault!” Cicero cried. “If you hadn't had to send poor unworthy Cicero on his Trial, Aela wouldn't have been there to get hurt! And she got hurt protecting me from that Dwemer thing! Cicero was quick and got out of the way of its hot steam jets, but Aela wasn't. She got hurt while she was distracting it so it wouldn't go for me! So... so Cicero killed it, cut its wires with his dagger so it fell over, and he brought Aela home all by himself, but she's hurt and injured, and what if she dies? Cicero doesn't want Aela to die, she was nice to him!”

Once again, Melinda had to wonder what sort of life the poor man had had if simple courtesy and goodwill were enough to win his undying loyalty.

“It's not your fault,” she told him gently. “She's going to be all right, although she's going to have a few scars and she won't be fighting for a while. Cicero, this sort of thing happens, it's an occupational hazard. That's why we have Shield-Brothers and Shield-Sisters to watch each other's back – it's so if one is injured, the other can take down the foe and get them to safety. Which you did. You didn't leave her to die and run away to save your own skin – you took on a Dwemer Centurion _by yourself_ , killed it and got Aela home. That's brave, Cicero. That's honourable. That's exactly what we want in the Companions... Shield-Brother.”

Cicero stopped sniffing and looked up, stunned. “You mean... Cicero passed? Cicero can be a Companion?”

“Of course you can!” said Melinda, smiling as a weight fell off her shoulders. Cicero shrieked with delight and flung his arms around her, loudly proclaiming his gratitude and that he would be the best Companion ever. Melinda smiled and cuddled him back and didn't even object to the wet, sloppy kiss he planted on her cheek. Insane, he was clearly insane, but his enthusiasm was infectious and while Melinda had had her share of lovers, it had been a long time since anyone had cuddled her. Now here was Cicero dishing out the affection every time she saw him. It was a nice thing to have in her life. It probably wouldn't be a good idea to take him into her bed. That way could only lie trouble. But he was cute and endearing and... the odd cuddle wouldn't hurt, right?

Cicero let her go and sat up, looking thoughtful. “Harbinger,” he said, “you know you said that sneaking up on someone and stabbing them was dishonourable? Well... Aela was doing that all the time, and when she wasn't sneaking up on them and stabbing them, she was shooting them with her arrows from the shadows and encouraging Cicero to do the same. In fact, she was very impressed with how quietly and quickly Cicero could stalk his prey. Was that honourable or not? Cicero is confused.”

“That's different,” said Melinda. “I said sneaking up on _people_ and stabbing them was dishonourable. The Falmer aren't people. Besides Aela is a huntress, and you need to be quiet when stalking prey or it runs away... oh!” Melinda began to realise where Cicero might have got his skillset from. “You used to be a hunter, didn't you? No wonder your first instinct is to start sneaking and not weigh yourself down with plate armour!”

Cicero hesitated for the briefest of seconds before laughing and clapping his hands. “Yes, yes, Cicero used to hunt, he used to hunt all the time! Oh, but that was many years ago now, many years indeed. He's barely lifted a blade for the last decade now – until he came here anyway. He is a little out of practice.”

If killing a Centurion on his own was Cicero out of practice, Melinda couldn't even imagine what he'd been like when he was hunting regularly. Still, he had skills they could use and Melinda wasn't about to turn that down. In fact, there was something he could help her with right now.

“Come with me,” she said, getting up and leading him back to Jorrvaskr. “I need to ask you something. In private.”

Cicero followed, loudly exclaiming that he was happy to assist, sweet Melinda need only ask and Cicero would cheerfully obey, especially if she had any enemies that perhaps needed their throats slitting. Melinda had to wonder if letting someone quite this bloodthirsty into the Companions had been a good idea, but there was no going back now. Unless and until Cicero did something unacceptable, she was stuck with him.

~~~~~~~~~

She'd been able to make him keep quiet until they got back to the Harbinger's room, and rather than sit with him at the table outside, she led him into the bedroom and motioned for him to sit down next to her on the bed. Cicero blinked, looked slightly nervous, but did as asked, taking his boots off and sitting curled up on the covers, a respectable three feet away with his hands to himself. How very sweet of him, although there was really no need for quite that level of propriety. No one in the Companions was going to be so terribly appalled at the Harbinger having a man in her room, although in Cicero's case, some might well question her taste or for that matter, her sanity.

“Cicero,” she said nervously, “I'm afraid I wasn't entirely honest about my motives for sending you to Shimmermist Cave. I mean, don't get me wrong, sending you on a Trial was the right thing to do and you would have had to go somewhere... but there was a reason I sent you there, and it's not the most honourable of reasons, I'm afraid. I'm sorry, Cicero.”

Cicero was frowning, but he seemed calm enough. “I see... actually, no, Cicero doesn't see at all, he's very confused. What is sweet Melinda implying?”

Melinda took a deep breath. Nothing for it but to admit the truth and while this was going to be deeply embarrassing, she couldn't stop now, not with suspicion starting to flower in Cicero's eyes and something told her she didn't want to see Cicero angry.

“'mscaredoftheFalmer,” she whispered. Cicero scratched his ear.

“Sorry, Harbinger, Cicero has good hearing but he didn't quite catch that. Could you say it a little louder?”

“I said, I'm scared of the Falmer!” Melinda cried, louder than she'd intended, the Thu'um making the furniture rattle. Great, just what she needed. She hoped no one had heard that, but with Aela still in the Temple, Vilkas out on a job with Ria, Farkas upstairs still and everyone else likely to be at the other end of Jorrvaskr, it was unlikely.

The suspicion had faded from Cicero's face, but that would have been preferable to what replaced it. Laughter. Crazy, maniacal laughter as Cicero fell back on the bed, clutching his sides as tears rolled down his face, slapping his thigh and laughing so hard, he rolled off the bed, crashed to the floor and still kept on laughing. Melinda would have worried about him, but it served him right if he was hurt, the insensitive little bastard.

“It's not funny!” she shouted, picking up a pillow and throwing it at him.

“Oh it is! It is! A funny joke!” Cicero howled from the floor. “The Harbinger jests with gullible Cicero, pulling his leg!” He sat up, leaning on the edge of the bed with a grin on his face. “Sweet Melinda, the Harbinger of Jorrvaskr, is a big, brave warrior who is surely not afraid of anything – Melinda?” He took in the angry, tearful look on her face and immediately stopped laughing, looking horribly contrite. “The Harbinger is... serious? Oh.” 

“Yes, I'm serious,” Melinda snapped, mollified a little but still a bit sore about revealing her weak point just to be laughed at. “My brothers used to tell stories of the Falmer when I was a kid, how they'd sneak into people's houses at night and steal valuables and abduct children to be their slaves and that if I was naughty, they'd take me first. I had nightmares for weeks, that's when I could get to sleep at all. Then I grew up and started travelling and heard stories from bards and fellow travellers, and it turned out the truth was worse. Everyone's got their weak points, Cicero. They're mine. They scare me half to death, but I couldn't tell anyone here that. They might think I was a coward. So when Vilkas gave me that job, I couldn't say no, but I didn't want to do it either. So I kept putting it off, and then you turned up and you needed sending on a Trial that would actually challenge you. So I gave you that one, so I wouldn't have to do it. I'm sorry, Cicero.”

She'd turned away from him as she'd said all this, anger fading into mortification and acute embarrassment. Great. Now she'd not only made a complete fool of herself, he'd probably hate her. But she was a Companion, and Companions dealt with problems head on, they didn't leave them to fester. If he was angry, at least it would be honest anger. She'd rather that than affection she didn't deserve.

The bed creaked as Cicero climbed back on to it, and then to her surprise, she felt him sit next to her, right next to her and his arms creeping around her waist.

“Melinda,” he breathed into her ear. “Sweet Melinda. Is that all? My dear Harbinger, you've no need to apologise for sending Cicero to do your killing for you. He's quite happy to take any job off your hands that you might find... distasteful.”

“I shouldn't need to palm my jobs off on other people just because I'm too scared to deal with them myself,” Melinda whispered. It was shameful, it was humiliating, she should just be able to either confess to her fear, face up to it like a true Nord, or just say no to the Falmer jobs without giving a reason. And yet she couldn't do any of those things, because she was scared of looking weak and vulnerable in front of her fellow Circle members. Odd then that she felt safe enough around Cicero to admit it to him. Perhaps it was precisely because he didn't seem to care what anyone thought of him – made him less likely to judge others. He certainly didn't seem to be judging her. Quite the opposite – he'd pulled her to him and was rubbing her back, making little cooing noises as she rested her head on his shoulder. 

“Melinda,” he whispered. “Dear, sweet Melinda. Don't be upset, Cicero hates seeing you upset, he still thinks you're the bravest warrior he knows.”

Melinda didn't feel terribly brave at the moment and had to wonder how many brave warriors he actually knew, outside Jorrvaskr of course.

“Not so brave right now,” she whispered back. Cicero just chuckled.

“You were honest with me even though you were afraid. Still brave in Cicero's eyes. Don't worry, he won't tell anyone. However, he does propose a bargain.”

“A bargain? What sort of bargain?” Melinda sat up, pushing away from him, suspicious. This sort of bargain never boded well.

Cicero just smiled in a way that didn't allay her suspicions in the slightest. “Why, simply this. The dear Harbinger would prefer not to have to deal with the Falmer personally, for reasons which are entirely understandable and shall remain between the two of us as it's really not anyone else's business, is it now? Whereas Cicero has no problem dealing with the Falmer and indeed quite likes jobs involving blood and death and stabbing. It seems to Cicero that these two preferences are easily reconciled. If any more jobs likes this come in, why, you simply tell Vilkas or Farkas or Aela or anyone else that Cicero is to do it. Cicero promises you, he will not mind. If anyone questions it, just tell them that after the Mikael incident, you've decided it's best if Cicero exclusively handles jobs dealing with people and creatures no one will miss. That way there will be no... misunderstandings. I'm sure no one would want any misunderstandings.”

If by misunderstanding, Cicero meant any more innocent townsfolk ending up in a bloodied heap at Danica's door, then Melinda wasn't going to argue. While the whole thing still sounded rather underhanded for her liking, she had to admit that as solutions went, it was admirably practical and she was nothing if not practical.

“All right,” she agreed. “I'll do that in future, and I'll make sure that Vilkas and Farkas know to kick any of that sort of work your way. But Cicero, there's another problem, and that's what I was going to ask you about.”

Cicero tilted his head to one side. “What sort of problem?”

“Something's come up,” said Melinda hesitantly. “It's an important job, and not one I can delegate. It involves going deep into a Dwemer ruin, and there'll almost certainly be Falmer there. I can't not do it, the whole fate of the world is resting on this! But...”

“But you're afraid and frightened and would really rather not,” Cicero finished. Melinda nodded hopelessly.

“You must think I'm such a milk-drinker,” said Melinda. Cicero shook his head.

“Never,” he said softly. “Harbinger, if this job is so important and no one can do it for you, then clearly you must go... but do you need to go alone? Can you not take a Shield-Brother or Shield-Sister with you?”

“That would mean them finding out how scared I was,” said Melinda. “Which is why I never asked any of the others. But when I asked you to go and clear out a Falmer Hive, you never even blinked. And you don't seem to care what anyone thinks, and I feel safe around you. So... so I told you.”

“You want Cicero as your Shield-Brother in this,” said Cicero. He was smiling, but not the usual manic grin. It was a combination of surprise, happiness and a tenderness she'd not had aimed at her in a long while. Melinda nodded, relieved that after all that, not only had she not had to ask in the end, he actually seemed pleased at the prospect.

“Of course!” he purred. “Cicero would be delighted to help!” He took her hand, lifted to his lips and kissed the back of her fingers before letting her go. “When do we leave?”

“Not yet,” said Melinda, valiantly repressing the part of her that had tingled all over at his touch. “I want to see how Aela's doing first. But in a few days, then we'll leave.”

Cicero smiled and slid off the bed, promising that he was already looking forward to it. Melinda watched him go, feeling the tension that had been building up inside unwinding. She liked Cicero, she really did, but something about him unsettled her. There was some inner darkness there, something dangerous and unpredictable, something wild about him and it was worse because she knew so very little about him, who he'd been before, where he'd lived, what he'd done. She had a feeling hunting didn't quite cover everything and she'd be very surprised if he'd never killed a person before. He must have been a mercenary at some point, or a soldier perhaps. A scout in the Legion? Maybe. But she had a feeling it was something else and she didn't know what. All she did know was that underneath all the charm and frivolity and mischievousness lurked a very dangerous man, and the most unsettling thing of all was that part of her didn't mind that a bit.

~~~~~~~~~~

Alftand was as bad as Melinda had expected, in fact it was worse. She'd sorted Cicero out with a Skyforge steel sword and dagger, the sword as his official welcome gift and the dagger as an unofficial thank you present for agreeing to go with her to Alftand. So far he'd been putting the sword at least to good use, although he was wielding his ebony dagger in his offhand. 

They'd fought their way through Dwemer automatons and Falmer, uncovering the remains of an unlucky previous expedition along the way. One unexpected bonus was finding out Wuuthrad worked as well against Falmer as it did against their surface kin. All the same, things had still been tough. It was getting easier though and once fighting started, her reflexes kicked in and her fear took a back seat. It was only after that she'd start shaking all over and feel like she was about to be sick. That was when Cicero really came into his own, cleaning the blood off his weapons and then cuddling her until it all went away. Melinda knew she shouldn't be quite so reliant on him being there to soothe the fear away – but the fact was, it was working.

Finally, they'd made it to the foot of Alftand and into Blackreach itself. It should have been beautiful down there, and it was, Melinda supposed, if you liked the dark and didn't mind the lack of sun. Cicero seemed enthralled. She hated it. She wanted freedom, wind in her hair, sunlight on her back, running and running in her beast form until she could run no more. Not penned up down here in the dark with the Falmer. Of which there were many. Not to mention the cavern was so huge it was hard to navigate, and they got lost quickly. Then they stumbled on the Falmer camp.

There were more of them than expected, about eight of them pouncing at once. Melinda was already exhausted but Wuuthrad did its work and her armour kept the blows off. Cicero wasn't so lucky. He was quick and deadly but the Falmer were tough and their weapons were poisoned. It wasn't long before he was on his knees, wounds on his arms and back already inflamed with poison. Three of the Falmer were gathered round him, slashing away with their blades and that scaled armour of his wouldn't keep him safe for long. 

“Melinda!” he cried, rolling from side to side to avoid the blows as he slashed at their ankles with his dagger. “Melinda?”

She was surrounded by three more of them, and her own axe blows were getting slower. She heard his voice and glanced up, going pale as she saw him on the floor.

“Nooo!!!” she howled, panicked and whether it was fear for him or just fear of being on her own down here in the dark with the Falmer, Cicero didn't know, but she was scared and Melinda shouldn't be scared, it was wrong, wrong, but Cicero couldn't do anything, however much he wanted.

The howl changed into something else, anguished wail deepening in pitch as it turned into a furious roar. Next thing Cicero knew, Falmer blood splattered everywhere and then this huge beast had leapt over him, grabbing the biggest Falmer assaulting him and ripping it to shreds. Werewolf, it was a werewolf, but how did one get down here? Unless it was a Falmer werewolf, but Cicero didn't think a Falmer werewolf would be ripping apart other Falmer. Would it? Not unless the poison was hallucinogenic, of course. That must be it, there must be some of those special mushrooms growing down here and the Falmer made poison out of them. He was clearly imagining the whole thing. Except the explosions of Falmer blood as the thing tore their limbs off were very very real. Cicero should be scared, he really should but the whole thing struck him as very very funny, and he lay back, giggling hysterically as yet another Falmer died horribly, its head flying into the distance. While the Falmer were dealing with this new threat, Cicero downed a few healing potions, feeling his wounds heal up and his strength return. He finally felt able to sit up as the wolf finished mauling the last of the Falmer and turned towards him. Cicero really should be reaching for his sword to deal with it, but it was too funny, too funny that after being rescued from Arnbjorn he ended up dying down here at a different werewolf's hands. Paws. Claws. Whatever. He couldn't stop giggling. Laughter incarnate and he'd probably keep giggling even as the thing ripped his lungs out. Which it probably would do any minute now. Any time at all.

Except it wasn't. It had let the last Falmer go and was now crouched a few feet away from him. It was no longer snarling, but the look in its eyes was no less intense.

“What, Cicero not good enough for you?” Cicero asked. “You're willing to eat all those nasty Falmer but not sweet Cicero, hmm?”

The wolf growled, although it sounded like more of a warning than an actual intent to attack. Cicero still didn't quite like the look in its eyes, but if it wanted him dead, he'd surely be dead, right? Slowly, he propped himself up on his elbow.

“Look, if you're not going to eat poor Cicero, how about you move along, hmm? You're unnerving me.”

To his surprise, the wolf actually whined a little, hopping over to his side, looking quizzically at him. Then it leaned down and sniffed him experimentally, its snout nuzzling his cheek. Cicero squeaked, the fur tickling him. Then the wolf licked him.

Cicero squealed even louder at that.

“Stop it, stop it, that tickles!” he laughed. He looked up, still giggling, and the laughter died in his throat. The wolf had that intense look in its eyes, a very predatory and hungry look and suddenly Cicero had no idea what it intended any more. Then, very deliberately, it straddled his body, placed its paws on its shoulders and before he could react, had Cicero on his back, pinned to the ground.

Cicero stared back up at it, a rather queasy feeling in his stomach. He didn't think he was dinner, no. But as the wolf began to nuzzle at his throat again, licking his neck and the exposed flesh of his chest and shoulders, Cicero almost wished he was. Instead, he had a horrible feeling he was something else entirely – a mate. Oh Sithis, the thing found him attractive. Well, why not? It wasn't like he was awash with any other offers. As the beast's tongue traced along his skin, Cicero began to laugh again.

~~~~~~~~~~ 

“Melinda! Melinda?!” Cicero's voice had been high-pitched and panicky and high strung even for him. The mere sound of it had sent chills down her spine, and then she'd seen him, down and bleeding and vulnerable and not Cicero, no no, not Cicero, how was she going to find the Scroll and get out without him?? She still needed him, he was hers, dammit, the Falmer weren't supposed to kill her irrepressible, incorrigible Cicero! Rage flooded her system and with it her control fell apart. Seconds later, she was changing into her beast form, and then there was nothing but rage, blood, pain and death as the nasty pale creatures of night fell before her. Rage and joy, driving her on as she ripped the prey to pieces, joy in the hunt, triumph in her victory... rage that they'd dared to hurt her Cicero. They'd pay, and pay they did until the last one breathed its last and it was just her and the jester. 

He was lying back, watching her and giggling. Odd. Few found the beast funny. Most ran or tried to fight. Cicero was just drinking a healing potion or two then laughing again. She could smell him from here, a blend of blood, steel, a faint whiff of rose oil and leather, but not fear. 

_Not prey_ , she told the beast within, hoping it wouldn't get any ideas. It was still high on blood and and adrenaline and while she was no feral beast, it wasn't easy to hold her more primal urges in check after killing.

“What, Cicero not good enough for you?” he asked, the giggles subsiding. “You're willing to eat all those nasty Falmer but not sweet Cicero, hmm?”

_Not prey. Mate._

Wait, what? Where had that come from? Cicero wasn't... she didn't... she didn't feel that way! He was clearly insane and troubled and damaged, she should just leave well alone.

Except as a beast, none of that seemed to matter. He was male, he was pack and he desired her. She was the pack alpha... and she wanted him. 

He was saying something else and now there was the faintest flicker of anxiety, and that wasn't right, he was her Cicero, her junior packmate, he had nothing to fear from her, didn't he know that? She was his alpha, she'd never let any harm come to him. Hadn't she just torn a whole band of Falmer apart for him? Making her way over, slowly, carefully so as not to spook him, she nuzzled his face, trying to comfort him.

Cicero squeaked, and she liked that. She liked that noise very much indeed. How to make him do that again? His scent was strong in her nostrils, blood definitely, rose oils, jasmine... and a strong sense of arousal. Something in him recognised his pack alpha still. Leaning forward, she flicked her tongue against his flesh. Warm, salty, tasting of blood and fire, maleness and need and desire and darkness, and she couldn't stop, couldn't stop tasting him, and he was writhing, squealing, not even objecting as she pinned him down and kept tasting him. She could sense a certain tension, even fear in there, but he didn't need to be scared, she wasn't going to hurt him. He was her loyal pack subordinate, she just wanted to taste him and enjoy him. He'd enjoy it too surely, she could smell the want on him, the need, and now he was laughing again, writhing beneath her, yes that was better, her laughing jester, laughing and laughing as he moved against her, yielding to his alpha, letting her take what was his, oh such a good little whelp, this one, so good...

Grey flashed before her eyes, her flesh rippled, fur vanished beneath her skin and her senses dulled back to normal. Back to human.

Melinda came fully back to herself, staring straight into Cicero's stunned eyes as she realised with dawning horror that not only was she pinning him down and straddling him, she was completely naked. Cicero stared back at her, before his eyes travelled downwards, taking in every inch of her body and then returning to her face, amazed.

“You're a werewolf!” he whispered. Melinda nodded, knowing she was blushing but really having no idea how on earth she was meant to deal with this whole situation, not him finding out this way, not just having molested him in beast form, not the whole being naked thing, none of it.

“Of course, of course you are!” he laughed, and then he was giggling again, crazy lunatic laughter as if the whole thing was the funniest thing ever.

“I need to get dressed,” she whispered, rolling off him and searching frantically for her armour, scattered everywhere as it always was after a change.

“You didn't have to stop!” he called after her plaintively. “Cicero was enjoying that!”

Melinda just bet he was. “A man of honour would be looking the other way about now!” she shouted back at him.

Cicero sighed. “All right, all right. There, Cicero is looking the other way. Melinda can get dressed safe in the knowledge that her maidenly virtue is no longer being sullied.”

Melinda glanced over her shoulder and saw that he was indeed sitting up, cross-legged and facing in the opposite direction. Well, that was something. She pulled her armour on, her safe, reliable and above all difficult to get off her armour, tracked down Wuuthrad and the rest of her gear, before finally approaching Cicero. Oh, this was bad. This was very bad. But she was a Companion and Companions did not hide from their problems.

“I... hope I didn't scare you,” she said, borrowing Farkas' words even as she knew damn well he'd not been scared at all. She'd smelled the desire coming off him even as he'd struggled under her grip.

“Hardly,” Cicero said, glancing over his shoulder with a grin and only looking a little disappointed at seeing her dressed again. “Does changing back always leave you naked?”

“Yes,” said Melinda. Trust him to fixate on that. Sure enough, he was grinning.

“Cicero is very pleased indeed to hear that. He shall have to throw himself in danger's way more often if it means sweet Melinda will turn into a wolf to rescue him and then turn into a beautiful naked woman afterwards – ow!”

Melinda smacked the back of his head. “Pervert!” she snapped at him. “Get your mind out of the gutter. I just turned into a ravaging beast and all you can do is think about me naked?”

Cicero turned pouting eyes towards her. “But Melinda is pretty underneath all that solid metal armour!” he whined. “She has soft skin and nice curves and Cicero liked looking at her!”

“Stop it,” she warned him. “Don't even go there. I'm not interested. We're not going to be lovers. So you saw me naked. Big deal.”

A pause. Then Cicero was edging closer, nuzzling at her ear. “Your wolf form knew what it wanted,” he whispered. “Cicero could tell. Cicero didn't know it was you at the time, of course. But if he had... he wouldn't have minded at all. As it is, he only minded a little bit.”

“What is wrong with you?” she whispered, shoving him away and staggering to her feet. He was insane, he had to be, the beast form was many things but sexually attractive it was not. Not to normal people anyway, but then Cicero had no pretensions whatsoever to being one of those.

“We should move on, come on,” she said roughly, eager to put this whole mess behind her. She glanced back at Cicero to see if he was following. He was still sitting on the ground, staring at his feet.

“Cicero?” she said. Slowly he looked up, his face closed like she'd never seen it. He got to his feet, still graceful as ever and folded his arms, holding himself.

“You do not feel the same, do you,” he said softly. “You do not return poor Cicero's feelings. Of course you don't. Why would you? You are strong and beautiful and Cicero's just a fool. Of course.”

“Don't,” she whispered, but he just flinched away.

“Come, let's find you your Elder Scroll,” said Cicero, and it was the resignation in his voice that stung more than anything else as he began to walk away towards a tower in the distance that might be where it was hidden. “Shield-Sister, if that's all it's to be.”

“I just molested you in beast form!” Melinda cried. “How in Oblivion can that not bother you??”

Cicero stopped but didn't face her.

“It's not the worst thing to happen to poor Cicero,” was all he said. “At least Cicero knew he was wanted.”

Melinda's heart broke. She didn't know what had happened, didn't want to know what the worst thing to happen to him was, all she knew was that he was hurt and unhappy and it was her fault and she should never have brought him here, never. She should have been brave and faced her fear and come on her own, but that thought died as soon as it saw light. She'd never have made it this far without him.

Without even thinking, she closed the gap between them and turned him to face her.

“You still are!” she cried. “Cicero, please, I'm sorry, I lost control, let my feelings get the better of me, went too far. I'm so sorry, I didn't want to hurt you, I hate seeing you unhappy, it's horrible.”

He didn't meet her eyes, preferring to stare at her feet instead.

“It's not exactly pleasant for poor rejected Cicero either,” he said bitterly. Melinda blinked back tears as she pulled him closer and without thinking kissed the top of his head.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered. “I do care about you, I do, I'm just... I've only known you two weeks if that!”

“Two minutes was enough for Cicero,” she heard him reply.

“I saved your life,” she said quietly. “That tends to bias people.”

“You hacked a dangerous werewolf to pieces,” said Cicero, his voice muffled where his face was resting against her armour. “That sort of thing tends to impress poor Cicero.”

She could imagine. Cicero's levels of bloodthirst would have put even Skjor to shame. Clearly his type was strong women, and his first meeting with her involved her saving his life with an awful lot of blood involved. No wonder he'd developed feelings.

“I don't want to hurt you,” she whispered.

“Too late,” he whispered back. Melinda held him tighter, wanting to make it better but not having any idea how. 

“Listen, Cicero,” she told him, keeping her voice as gentle as possible. “I don't think we can be like that, not lovers. Not yet. But I do like your company and I am very fond of you. I just don't know you well enough for that yet.”

Cicero went very still and then raised his eyes, looking thoughtful. “Not yet is not no.”

“No, it isn't,” said Melinda gently, finally feeling the conflicting emotions start to fade. “So how about we keep spending time together, get to know each other better and I'll think about it, all right? I just wouldn't want you to get carried away on a flood of emotion and realise later that you'd made a horrible mistake.”

A smile fluttered at the corners of Cicero's lips. “Now this is not what I've heard about Nords. Cicero has heard all it takes is a declaration of mutual interest and it's down the aisle they go.”

“Maybe that's why I haven't declared mutual interest then,” Melinda grinned, letting him go and linking her arm in his, eager to get out of this wretched place. “I heard about Imperials that they flirt madly with everyone they meet and fall in love at the drop of a hat.”

Cicero protested this wasn't the case at all, he never dropped his hat even if he was in love with someone. Melinda burst out laughing, and with the awkwardness shattered, they made their way down to the Tower of Mzark in companionable silence. It wasn't the way Melinda would have chosen to tell him about the beast blood in her veins, but all told, there were worse ways this could have gone.


	4. The Claiming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that the werewolf secret is out, Cicero's curious to know more, and he and Melinda grow a little closer as she tells the story. However, what really brings them together is the blast from Cicero's past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shameless filth in this one! Femdom, fingering, biting. Mmm. Biting.

The Tower of Mzark was mercifully free of both Falmer and automatons, and there was even the remains of a campsite in the main room. After barricading themselves inside and sweeping the place for enemies, both Cicero and Melinda collapsed on the bedrolls. It had been hours since either of them last slept. Cicero dragged his bedroll to lie alongside Melinda's but remained about a foot away, studiously not touching her. Melinda winced at the awkwardness, but was too tired to dwell on it. Within seconds she was asleep.

She woke to find the distance between them closed. Cicero was facing away from her, but somehow she'd inched forward in the night and was now spooned up behind him, one arm around his waist and pinning him to her. If last night had been awkward... Slowly, she began to move her arm, hoping he was still asleep.

“Sweet Melinda is awake,” Cicero purred. Damn it. He was either a very light sleeper or had been awake the whole time, known she was cuddling him in her sleep and done absolutely nothing. Typical of him. While he did have a sense of honour, he was also a born opportunist, particularly when it came to his love life, or so Melinda was starting to realise.

“I... er... sorry,” she said sheepishly, backing away from him. Cicero rolled over, resting his head on one hand.

“You don't need to explain. Harbingers can get lonely too. Cicero understands.” The grin on his face told her he understood all too well. 

“We should have breakfast,” she said hastily, getting out of the bedroll. “Then go and check out that Dwarven machine, see if it has our scroll.”

Cicero was still watching her, still looking far too amused for her liking. “How do you sleep in all that armour?” he asked.

“I'm used to it,” Melinda said, rummaging through her pack in search of some food. “Also I have nothing else to wear, and you've seen enough of me naked today, I think.”

Cicero giggled but did not make the filthy remark that Melinda had been expecting.

“So how long have you been a werewolf then?” he asked, settling down beside her and, unprompted, began to rummage through his pack and produce some food for them both.

“Not long,” said Melinda, wondering what to tell him then deciding he was a full Companion pending Aela's final verdict and a swearing-in ceremony, he deserved to know. “Just a few months, if that. Look, you know the Companions have the Circle who dish out the jobs and the Harbinger to advise them?”

“Yes, yes,” said Cicero. “You're the leader the Companions don't have, Cicero gets that.”

Melinda sighed. She and others, from Aela to Vilkas to Eorlund to Ria, had tried to explain that the Companions didn't have a hierarchy as such, no one was really the boss of anyone in the Companions and they certainly didn't have a leader. Cicero had merely smiled knowingly and continued to act as if there were a strict chain of command in place and Melinda was at the top of it. 

“Well, the Companions have been around in one form or another since the First Era, but a few hundred years ago, the Harbinger, a man called Terrfyg, made a deal with some witches and they turned him and his Circle into werewolves. They thought it was just temporary at first... but it wasn't. Since then, all the Harbingers and Circle members were given the blood and became werewolves, up until they gave it to me a few months ago. I wasn't Harbinger then, of course. The Harbinger was a man named Kodlak Whitemane. He was an old man, a kind man, veteran of many battles. I think you'd have liked him. There was also Skjor, Kodlak's right hand man and probably the next Harbinger if he'd lived. Then there was Aela, Vilkas and Farkas who made up the rest of the Circle. Only Kodlak, he was getting old and he wasn't sure he wanted the beast blood any more. They say werewolves when they die are claimed by Hircine for his Hunting Grounds to hunt forever. But Kodlak was a true Nord and he wanted to go to Sovngarde. He wanted a cure. Vilkas and Farkas thought likewise. Skjor and Aela, well, they didn't. Aela still doesn't. It caused a little bit of tension, I must say.”

Cicero was listening intently, fascinated. When she'd mentioned hunting forever in the Hunting Grounds, he'd blinked and then sat up, all ears. Well, he'd been a hunter once. Maybe returning to the chase in death appealed. She had a feeling he'd take to the blood well, but on the other hand, she didn't think he needed making any more dangerous.

“Skjor and Kodlak are not alive any more,” he said carefully. “Was there... a falling out? Of the fatal variety? Did Ysgramor tell Kodlak to kill Skjor after Melinda became a werewolf, to stop the blood spreading?”

“What – no! And... Cicero, Ysgramor's dead. He's off in Sovngarde, he doesn't give orders to us any more. I'm sure he's watching, but it's up to us to take care of ourselves and each other and act in a way that will honour his name and ours.”

Cicero was looking very thoughtful as she spoke, very thoughtful indeed. “So the spirit of Ysgramor does not regularly speak to the Harbinger to give orders and guidance then. Interesting. Of course, it must help that your work is entirely legal and clients can contact the Circle direct. Of course, of course.” He noticed Melinda staring at him and grinned nervously. “Forgive me, foolish Cicero is rambling again. So you had the old Harbinger looking for a cure, and Skjor and Aela opposed to this. Then you became a werewolf too?”

Melinda nodded, wondering where on earth Cicero's odd ideas came from. Madness or something else? But she had a story to finish.

“Yes, I became a werewolf. Skjor and Aela were of the opinion that the beast blood was too valuable a gift to waste and that I was a strong enough warrior to deserve it. So they offered me the blood and I accepted. To celebrate, they took me to this fort at Gallows Rock, home to a band of werewolf hunters called the Silver Hand. Skjor went on ahead while I recovered from receiving the blood. He... they killed him, Cicero.”

Cicero actually gasped at that. “They killed your friend and Shield-Brother??” His eyes hardened at Melinda's nod. “Are any still living? Do you wish Cicero to help you kill them? Send their souls to Si- Sovngarde? Or wherever?”

Bless the man. So fierce and yet still so sweet-natured with it. “It's fine,” she told him. “Aela and I cleared the whole place out. In fact, we did a little more than that. We went on a little crusade against them, assassinating their leaders, stealing their plans. We were wild, Cicero.”

“You did assassinations??” Far from looking disapproving, Cicero actually looked pleased. “Cicero had no idea!”

“It's not something I'm proud of,” Melinda sighed. “At least the Silver Hand were little better than bandits anyway. They called themselves heroes – but they really weren't. Killing them, well, it's a service to Skyrim.”

“Oh, Cicero understands,” the jester purred, leaning closer and placing a hand on her arm. “Cicero understands very well indeed.” He glanced up at her, smiling at some secret knowledge that he probably imagined they shared. Melinda was fairly certain they didn't. She'd hated the Silver Hand jobs – well, afterwards anyway. She didn't want to think about what she'd thought while she was actually carrying them out. She turned away from the look in his eyes, shivering. This man had hunted more than animals in his time, of that she was sure.

She took her arm away, hoping he'd get the message. To his credit, he did and backed off.

“So you became a werewolf, Skjor was killed by the Silver Hand and you and bloodthirsty Aela took revenge,” he said. “What next? Did Kodlak know any of this was happening?”

Melinda smiled at the memory, of how she and Aela had tried so hard to keep it a secret and how Kodlak had figured it out almost immediately.

“He guessed, yes,” she sighed. “He didn't approve, but he also told me it was no business of his what Companions did in the name of honour.”

Cicero raised eyebrows at that but said nothing. 

“Don't get any ideas,” Melinda warned him. “No one's the boss of anyone in the Companions, but if you do something that's going to bring shame on the entire order, you'll be asked to leave, got it?”

Cicero whimpered a little and nodded. “Cicero will be good, very good, and do exactly as Melinda tells him,” he said quickly. “If she will finish her story? Was Kodlak very angry?”

“Disappointed more than angry,” said Melinda, recalling how that had hurt far worse than any anger. “But he had found a cure for the beast blood. He just needed me to help him. So I said I would. He told me to seek out the witches who'd cursed us and bring back their heads. So... I did.”

“You killed them,” Cicero breathed. “All of them?”

“All of them,” Melinda confirmed. Cicero actually squealed and Melinda began to wish she'd not told this story. She recognised that look in his eyes by now. Bloodlust and other lusts all mingled together and focused on her. It made her distinctly uncomfortable, not least because she could feel the beast inside, an unholy combination of wolf and dragon, responding to it... and wanting more.

“And then?” Cicero breathed, barely a foot away from her, not touching, no, he was canny enough not to overstep the mark. But he was leaning in, staring up at her with something like awe, clearly offering himself if she were to just turn and claim him.

“And then I went back to Jorrvaskr, all eager to tell the story only to find the Silver Hand had got bold,” she told him, feeling the guilt and fury rising as she recalled the horror that had awaited her when she returned. “They'd got into Whiterun and attacked Jorrvaskr itself, in retaliation for what we'd done to them. They didn't win, we killed most of them – but they got Kodlak, Cicero. They killed the old man. He was a good man, a nice man, he didn't even want to be a werewolf any more – and he was dead because Aela and I couldn't keep our own bloodlust in check. Dead because of me.”

She looked away, remembering Kodlak's dead body lying in Jorrvaskr and Vilkas shouting at her for not being there to protect him. It still hurt, even though Vilkas had been grieving too and had long absolved her of any blame in the matter. She wished she could forgive herself so easily.

Then Cicero was next to her, right next to her, and she'd not even heard him move, how could one man move so quietly? But he had his arms around her, stroking her hair and soothing her, brushing away tears she'd not even realised she was crying. 

“It's alright,” he was whispering. “It wasn't your fault, you weren't there, you couldn't have stopped it, you'd been ordered away, you couldn't have saved him. Oh but Cicero knows, he does! Knows what it feels like when your Li-leader dies and you should have been there to save her but you weren't, you weren't and she died and nothing's been right since and maybe you could have protected her, maybe not but you didn't, you didn't and she's dead and you still have to live with it because you... _weren't... there!_ ”

He was crying now too, holding on to her, kissing the top of her head, and Melinda wasn't sure who was supposed to be comforting who any more, only that Cicero had clearly gone through the whole same shattering experience too in the past. 

“What were you?” she whispered, looking up. “You were clearly a part of something, some organisation, doing some dangerous work. Back in Cyrodiil, was it?”

Cicero nodded sadly. “It doesn't matter. Sweet Melinda doesn't want to know about Cicero's sad past.”

“Did you want to talk about it?” Melinda asked gently. “You were part of an organisation, the Fighters' Guild perhaps? And your leader was in danger but you'd been ordered to stay behind or go somewhere else and she was killed. And the whole thing fell apart and you feel it's all your fault?”

Cicero nodded again, sniffling. “Yes,” he said softly. “No new leader arose, and there was fighting and trouble and the others died too or left. Cicero was the only one and he was all alone for so long, so long! He came to Skyrim hoping to start again, find new brothers and sisters, find a home and a new leader but it wasn't to be...” He wiped the tears from his cheeks, cuddling Melinda. “Thank you,” he said softly. “For taking poor Cicero in and looking after him. The Companions are not the Family Cicero was looking for, but they are nicer to him than anyone has been in years. Everyone says the Harbinger does not lead the Companions, but Cicero knows a leader when he sees one so he hopes Melinda does not mind if Cicero follows her anyway.”

Well, it clearly wasn't the Fighters' Guild, Melinda was sure she'd have heard if they'd disbanded. Maybe a lesser known group of freelancers. Either way, Cicero clearly didn't want to talk about the details, and no wonder if it had been anything like coming home and finding Kodlak dead.

“You're welcome, Cicero,” she said, feeling she should probably move at some point but honestly not wanting to. He might be short but he was clearly no weakling and there was something very comforting about a pair of strong arms around her, soothing the pain away. “I'm glad I invited you in as well. I'm glad you're happy with us.”

“Very,” he breathed, kissing the top of her head and holding her tight. Which was exactly what Melinda had not wanted to do, give him any encouragement, but she was feeling vulnerable and sad and needing comforting and he was there and... And. Well, as long as it didn't go beyond this, it would probably be all right. Probably.

“So how did dear Melinda become Harbinger then?” Cicero asked. “Did Ysgramor speak Binding Words to you, name you as Kodlak's successor?”

“Not exactly,” Melinda laughed, wondering where Cicero got some of his ideas from. “No, it was Kodlak himself. Listen carefully, I'll tell you the rest.”

So she told him. Of going with Vilkas to Driftshade Refuge, reclaiming the fragments of Wuuthrad they'd taken and wiping out the Silver Hand (Cicero liked that part and cackled with glee to hear it – really, she could understand bloodlust but did he have to be quite so cheerful about it?). Of Kodlak's funeral and finding the journal afterwards where he'd talked of dreams of Sovngarde and of her, helping him escape Hircine, of how he'd thought her the next Harbinger and talked of spending his remaining years mentoring her... She'd had to stop at that point, feeling the tears come back.

“But you never had those years,” Cicero said softly. “Oh sweetling. It must be hard, so very hard, to be doing this all on your own.”

“Not on my own,” said Melinda. “I've got my brothers and sisters, the rest of the Circle. They all help.”

“But they've never been Harbinger,” said Cicero knowingly. Melinda shook her head. 

“No. And it can be hard, you're right. But most of the time the place pretty much runs itself. I don't like being away for long, but there's plenty of time for other adventures and it's not a bad life. I do miss Kodlak, but he's in Sovngarde now and probably a lot happier than he was in life. He was an old man and a sick one. I don't think he'd have had long anyway.”

“Sovngarde?” Cicero frowned, confused. “But... he died without a cure, how did he get to Sovngarde?”

Melinda smiled and told him. Of how once Eorlund had had all the fragments of Wuuthrad at last, he'd been able to repair the legendary weapon of Ysgramor. Of how Melinda had taken the weapon and led the Circle to the Tomb of Ysgramor in the far north. Cicero had listened wide-eyed as she told him of fighting her way to Ysgramor's final resting place and there found Kodlak's spirit waiting at the end. Of how she'd placed a witch's head in the Flame of the Harbingers, drawn Kodlak's wolf spirit out of him and slaughtered the beast, setting Kodlak free at last. Of how he'd named her as the next Harbinger.

Cicero cackled in delight. “So you were named! He did say Binding Words – oh, not Ysgramor himself but Kodlak the old Harbinger in Ysgramor's very crypt! Yes yes, that will do, that will do! Melinda is the true Harbinger!” He flung his arms around her and cuddled her, forehead pressed to her own as he sighed with happiness.

“You had doubts as to that?” she asked, now truly confused. Cicero shook his head.

“Oh no. No no no, if the other Companions acknowledge you as Harbinger, Cicero will not object, no. But to know it was done truly, properly, with Ysgramor's blessing and handed on from your predecessor – that is well. That is very well indeed. Cicero does not like false leaders, you know, leaders who claim authority they don't have. Cicero has seen his fair share of blaspheming pretenders, he is relieved beyond the telling of it that Melinda is not one. Not that he ever thought you were, but to know for sure...” He rubbed her cheek with his thumb, smiling tenderly down at her. “My Harbinger,” he said softly. “Pretty Harbinger. Dear, sweet Melinda.”

Shor's bones, she had to put a stop to this, the man had clearly developed some sort of insane fixation on her and she had no idea what was behind it all but it had to be stopped. He was clearly insane, she'd be taking advantage, she should be taking care of him and protecting him from the Dark Brotherhood, not using his madness to satisfy her own pent-up urges. 

_And you can't do both??_ a treacherous little voice nagged at the back of her mind. Melinda ignored it, knowing that if she gave in to Cicero, there'd be no going back, that this obsession of his would never die. 

_And??_ she heard her wolf side raging at her. _He's ours, ours, you heard him!_

She had, but there was absolutely no way she was letting the beast loose on him. Even in human form, she knew what she was capable of. If she gave in to her desires... well, she had no idea what would happen but it would probably be painful and violent and humiliating for the poor man and she just couldn't do that to someone so vulnerable. Besides, right now they had a job to do.

“Breakfast,” she said, disentangling herself from his arms. “Then that Dwemer machine. We've got a Scroll to find so I can save the world.”

Cicero let her go, cheerfully tucking into some grilled chicken and a sweetroll, loudly exclaiming that of course they did, Cicero would never stop dear Melinda from doing her important world-saving work. Mad, he was clearly quite mad, but friendly and really rather sweet. Also very good with his blades. When he wasn't being all obsessive and passionate, he was very good to have around. The only problem was that when his feelings got the better of him, Melinda wanted him around even more...

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Retrieving the Scroll had been easy enough in the end – Melinda had been all for trying to examine the controls and see what they might do, but Cicero had never seen a shiny button he didn't want to press and as soon as the Lexicon had been inserted, had started poking and prodding like a child with a new toy. Five minutes later, the whole thing had just opened up and the Scroll was theirs. It had then just been a matter of taking the Tower of Mzark's elevator back to the surface and heading back to Jorrvaskr.

The place was quiet when they returned. Too quiet. Conversation stopped when they entered the room and even the notoriously unbothered Torvar was looking nervous. No sign of the twins anywhere, but Aela, up and about and mostly recovered, was waiting for them.

“Thank the Divines you're back, Harbinger,” said Aela grimly. “We need to talk. There's been... an incident.”

“Incident?” Melinda asked, feeling her heart sink. Behind her, she felt Cicero edge in closer, hiding behind her. He was clearly worried and she didn't blame him, but he'd been with her the whole time so at least it couldn't be his fault, right?

“Best if we don't talk here,” said Aela softly. “The twins are waiting for us in the Underforge, let's go.” She glanced at Cicero, peeping out from behind Melinda, clearly terrified, and smiled slightly. “Better bring him too, I think this concerns him. Don't be afraid, brother, you're not in trouble. Well, not with us anyway. Honestly, how can you face a cave full of Falmer and a Dwemer Centurion with no fear whatsoever and be terrified of a little social conflict?”

“Cicero cannot stab his way out of social conflict!” Cicero cried. “Well, he can but he tends not to get invited back after that...”

Well, didn't that just sum Cicero up in a nutshell. Of course, it didn't make him far different from a lot of other Companions, if Melinda was honest. Cicero was just more willing to show it when he was scared.

“Come on,” said Melinda, putting an arm round Cicero. “Let's go see what happened.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

What happened was the bloodstained corpse of an Argonian in black and red leather armour, or what remained of it after it had been bashed to pieces with a warhammer anyway. Farkas and Vilkas were both standing over it, equally grim expressions on their faces.

“What... who is he?” Melinda asked, horrified. Presumably he must have been an intruder or up to no good, surely?

“We don't know,” said Vilkas. “All we do know is that we found him sneaking around last night in the living quarters. Torvar staggered in drunk and found him leaning over Ria, who woke up and started screaming. That woke everyone else up and well...” He indicated the body.

“He fought well though,” said Farkas, approving. “Knew how to handle a blade. Damn near would have killed Njada if she'd not had her shield up in time. As it is, Torvar, Athis and Ria are carrying injuries. Whoever he was, he was a skilled fighter who could move without a sound.”

“And no one recognises him. No one at all?” said Melinda, trying to work out who'd be stupid enough to sneak into Jorrvaskr at night and... well, it surely couldn't have been for any good reason.

“Someone does,” said Aela. Melinda looked up and saw her nodding at Cicero. Slowly, Melinda turned to face the little jester. He was staring at the Argonian, eyes wide, pale, shaking and clearly terrified.

“Cicero?” Melinda asked. “Do you know this man?”

“They found me,” Cicero whispered. “They found me! Sweet Mo-Mara, I can't stay here, they know where I am, they know! They'll come back, they'll kill me, kill all of you!” He looked up at Melinda, horror writ large on his face and promptly turned and ran for the door. Or would have done if Melinda's werewolf reflexes hadn't kicked in. Grabbing him round the waist, she held him tight while he kicked and wriggled, determined to get some answers.

“Let me go, let me go!” Cicero wailed. “Cicero cannot stay, not now they know he's here! They won't stop until poor Cicero is dead! They'll come back and they'll kill poor Cicero and sweet Melinda and dear sister Aela and Farkas and Vilkas and Ria and all of you!”

Farkas cracked his knuckles. “Yeah, they can try. We'll be ready for 'em.”

“Who are they?” said Melinda softly. “Who's after you, Cicero? What happened?”

“The Dark Brotherhood!” Cicero howled. “The Dark Brotherhood are after me! Cicero... Cicero offended their leader, Astrid so she ordered him killed. Cicero ran away, hoping to get to Dawnstar and hide there or get a boat back to Cyrodiil, anything. But he found you instead and you're strong, you're warriors, he thought you could protect him. But you can't, you can't, they found me and now they'll kill us all!”

Melinda held him to her. He was so worked up he wasn't even crying, just shaking and panicking and she could smell the terror rolling off him. Aela had been right, the Dark Brotherhood really were after him, and from the sound of it, they'd be back. She was shaking herself, she realised, but not from fear. She was shaking from barely controlled rage. How dare they? How dare these murdering bastards try to hurt her Cicero? 

“That werewolf,” she said softly. “That was no feral beast, was it? That was one of them.”

Cicero nodded sadly. “Arnbjorn. His name was Arnbjorn. He was Astrid's husband.” He looked up at her, guilty and scared and she didn't even know what else. “We killed her husband, she will never stop until Cicero is dead, not now. And if she finds out you killed him, she will kill you too. Melinda, please, Cicero is sorry. Please let him go, let him run away, if you throw me out of the city loudly and publicly, at least Cicero can get away and you will be safe.”

“No!” Melinda growled, clutching him tighter. “You're not going anywhere! What sort of Companion abandons her Shield-Brother to those monsters?”

“No one with any honour!” Vilkas cried. “Fear not, my brother. Let this Astrid send her assassins. We will be ready for them.”

“We'll show them what real warriors look like!” Farkas growled, already looking quite keen to smash some heads together.

Melinda smiled. Let Astrid try and come for her Cicero. Melinda would wipe these scum from Tamriel for good.

“All right. Farkas, get this body out of here, take it out through the secret exit, get it as far away from the city as possible, leave it for the beasts. Vilkas, Aela, get back to Jorrvaskr and organise a watch rota. I want someone on watch all night, every night. When they try sneaking back in here, we'll be ready.”

Farkas picked the Argonian up and disappeared through one of the exit tunnels without another word. Vilkas went out the way they'd come in, presumably to start firing up the others with talk of blood and glory, Aela following. Leaving Melinda alone with Cicero.

“Why didn't you tell me?” she whispered. He was cowering in her arms, not able to meet her eyes.

“Cicero is sorry,” he gasped. “Cicero was afraid. He didn't think they would ever think to look here.”

“It's not your fault,” Melinda told him. “You're an innocent man being hounded by those evil bastards. You should have said, I would have done a better job of protecting you if you'd told me everything.”

Cicero did look up then, something almost like hope in his eyes. “Melinda means it? Melinda is going to fight the Dark Brotherhood for poor Cicero?”

“Damn right!” said Melinda, stroking his face. He leaned in to her hand, a happy little sigh escaping his lips, those deep brown eyes staring adoringly back up at her. _Mine. My Cicero. No one hurts you. No one._

“We're Companions, Cicero,” she told him, sliding her fingers through his hair and lifting his head up so his face was close to hers and she was staring into his eyes. “We do not run from danger. We do not run from our foes. We stand and we fight and we win. We do not abandon our Shield-Brothers to their enemies. Whoever attacks one of us attacks all. We will lure these snakes from their lair, wherever it is, and we will put them all down like the beasts they are, so neither you nor anyone else in Tamriel need ever fear them again. I swear it, Cicero. No one tries to murder a Companion of Ysgramor and lives to tell of it. No one.”

“You would do all that for poor Cicero?” he breathed, amazed.

“I'd do it for any of the Companions,” she told him, trying so very hard to remember that he was vulnerable and fragile and she mustn't lead him on, she mustn't, but he was there, right there and so very very wide-eyed and appealing...

“You aren't sending him away?” he whispered. “Even knowing he's bringing danger on you all?”

“No,” Melinda whispered back. “No, you're not going anywhere.”

“No,” Cicero gasped, closing his eyes. “No, I'm really not.” He tilted his face upwards and his lips brushed hers, just a very gentle, teasing kiss, the lightest of touches... and it broke her. Broke through her resolve, her honour, her principles, everything, and the beast took over.

Next thing either of them knew, Cicero was on his back and Melinda was leaning over him, gauntlets off and her bare fingers working at the straps on his armour.

“Yes, yes,” he gasped. “Oh yes, Cicero is all yours...” He reached up, hands finding her chest and cupping her breasts through the steel.

Never had she hated her Blades armour until now. Fortunately, she was fairly good at getting in and out of it by this time. She reached for the clasps, letting the cuirass fall loose and then it was off, crashing to the side, leaving her topless apart from her breast-band and soon that was gone too.

Cicero was looking up her in absolute adoration, tracing the curve of her breasts with his fingers, a man entranced. 

“You've seen them before,” Melinda said, trying to lighten the mood a little. Cicero nodded, cupping them in his hands as one thumb slid over her right nipple, making her gasp.

“But he could not touch them then. Could not taste... I assume it is different now?”

She nodded assent and then he'd pulled her down to him, mouth latching on to her nipple as his arms went around her, one hand rubbing her back and the other sliding down to caress her bottom. Melinda closed her eyes and moaned, finally giving in, finally past caring about anything other than that Cicero was willing, so was she, and she wanted him, very very much. She heard him chuckle to himself as he kept sucking on her breast, laughing, laughing, always the laughter with him. She didn't even care, as long as he kept on doing that with his tongue.

He let her go, sliding downwards, trailing a line of kisses down her stomach until he got to her waist.

“Sweetest Melinda is wearing too many clothes,” he murmured, sliding a hand between her legs and pressing hard against her crotch. Melinda groaned, rolling off him to remedy that. Soon she was naked, kneeling on the floor of the Underforge.

“Cicero?” she asked, wondering where'd he got to as she'd heard nothing from him.

“Here,” and next minute there was a warm, male body pressed up against her back, a naked and very aroused male body, with arms sliding around her as he kissed the side of her neck, one hand gently squeezing her breast and the other sliding between her legs, slender fingers finding warm heat, sliding either side of her clitoris and pressing into her.

“Oh gods,” she breathed. “Oh don't stop. Don't stop!” It felt amazing and she could feel the orgasm building, feel herself getting wetter as his fingers kept on working away, and he didn't seem to mind in the slightest, moaning into her ear as he thrust against her, hard cock rubbing against her backside.

“Did you mean it?” he whispered. “Will you protect Cicero, care for him? Is he yours?”

“Yes,” Melinda cried. “Yes, yes, of course, just keep doing that!”

“Yes. Oh yes,” she heard him breathe into her ear and then his fingers were working back, sliding inside her while his thumb kept up the pressure on her clit, and the orgasm was coming, building up inside, she could feel it. She let it hit her, riding it out as he held on to her, crooning her name and whispering for her to let it go, yes, let it all go, she looked so beautiful, didn't that feel so much better now she wasn't fighting it?

Yes, yes it did. It had left her gasping for breath, flushed all over and riding high on a tide of hormones and desire. It was done now, no going back, the line well and truly crossed. She might as well finish what she'd started. Twisting around, she pushed him back to the ground, leaping on top of him. He didn't object, laughing as she straddled him then the laughter trailing off entirely as she sank down on top of him, taking him inside her and starting to ride him. Damn, he felt good. Very good indeed, not too big but big enough so that she could feel him stretching her. She leaned forward, pinning his shoulders to the ground as she writhed on top of him.

“Is this good?” she breathed. He wasn't putting up any resistance, in fact the blissed out look on his face and the way he was gently moving in response to her would seem to indicate he was enjoying it. 

“Yes, yes,” he whispered, not laughing any more but smiling most definitely. “Yes, you're... oh yes, you're so lovely...”

His eyes flicked open, lust-hazed but gentle, so very gentle, smiling innocently up at her. She felt her heart skip a beat as she started to speed up, thrusting against him, feeling her clit grind against him as his cock filled her, walls clenching around him as she watched him moan in response. 

“Yes,” she gasped, admiring him as he writhed beneath her, leaner than most Nords but strong regardless, pale skin and a few old scars and sufficient muscle to prove he was no weakling. Good, there was no glory in claiming a weak man. “Yes, yes, you're mine. Not the Brotherhood's, not Astrid's. _Mine!_ ”

For the briefest of instants, he hesitated, breath catching in his throat. Then he nodded. “Not Astrid's, never Astrid's. Yours, yes, yours!”

The wolf inside howled in delight and her inner Dovah roared triumphant. Leaning down, she slid her hand around his throat, holding him still as her mouth found his shoulder and bit down into the firm flesh there. Cicero shrieked in pain, bucking under her but his hands remained where they were.

“Harbinger!” she heard him whimper. She let go, seeing the skin already turning an angry red and she knew that would come up as a bruise later, but somehow that didn't seem to be bothering her as much as it really should.

“Ssh, you're mine now and when they see that, everyone will know it,” she whispered. Cicero made a little keening noise at the back of his throat, thrusting into her as hard he was able.

“Yes,” he whispered, sounding near tears, eyes closed and looking away as if pain. “Yes, yours now, I swear it.”

“Are you alright?” she whispered, stroking his face and stopping moving. Something wasn't right, she could tell. Had she misread the situation, misread him? Gone too far?

He opened his eyes and smiled at her. “Yes, yes. Please, Melinda. Don't stop.” He closed his eyes again and leaned back, hands reaching for her hips and pulling her roughly down, thrusting up into her as he cried out. She grabbed his shoulders again, pinning him down as she rode him hard and fast, watching as whatever pain seemed to have afflicted him faded away and he was calling her name, thrashing beneath her as he thrust into her, wild and abandoned and utterly at her mercy. She could feel a second orgasm building and, flinging her head back, she gave into it, letting go and riding it, riding him on a wave of pleasure. Cicero's fingers on her tightened, digging into her flesh as he thrust into her, several hard and fast thrusts and then he was coming too, rasping her name in a low voice most unlike his usual speaking voice. She collapsed on top of him, worn out. He was still thrusting into her, gentler this time, finally slowing down as his own orgasm finished then going limp beneath her, holding her and kissing her gently as she snuggled into his arms.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“Don't mention it,” she murmured sleepily. “Pleasure was all mine.”

“It really wasn't,” he giggled in her ear. “Cicero very much enjoyed himself too.”

Melinda traced the lurid bruising starting to form on his poor shoulder. “I think I hurt you. I'm sorry.”

“Don't be,” he murmured, kissing her hair. “I didn't mind. I like having a reminder. You'd have to be a lot rougher than that for Cicero to object.”

Melinda laughed and looked up, placing a kiss on his lips. “I knew there was something different about you. Maybe next time we can do this in a bed, find out what else you'd like.”

Cicero giggled, nuzzling her cheek. “Next time? Sweet Melinda would like a next time? Cicero shall happily oblige. Oh, but what happened to 'I don't know you well enough, Cicero, we should take it slowly, Cicero', hmm?”

Melinda closed her eyes, seeing the body of that Dark Brotherhood assassin on the floor of the Underforge again and realising that if she'd gone to Blackreach on her own or taken someone else, it might have been Cicero's dead body that she'd come home to. It still might be while the Brotherhood were out there. The thought chilled her to the bone.

“Because there might not be time,” she said. “Because next time it might be one of us who dies. I don't want that to happen... well, not at all if I can help it. But I don't want it to happen and spend the rest of my life agonising over what might have been. If our time together is cut short, I want to know we made the most of what we had.”

She felt Cicero's arms tighten around her as he tilted her face up and kissed her, lips meeting and holding each other in a silent connection that said more than words ever would. Finally, he let her go.

“Cicero does not deserve such happiness,” he said softly. Melinda felt her heart ache for the poor man. He must have had such a rough life to feel that way.

“Everyone deserves to be happy,” she told him. “Even you, Cicero. Even if your life's not had much of it before. Perhaps especially then.”

“Cicero's life is likely to be short, and he's not looking forward to the afterlife,” he said, kissing her cheek and sitting up, reaching for his clothes. “But he's glad to have sweet Melinda now. When he's suffering eternal torment in the Void, he'll be glad to have some happy memories to comfort himself with.”

“It won't come to that,” said Melinda fiercely. “You're one of Ysgramor's now. We won't let the Brotherhood claim you.”

Cicero looked up from where he was getting dressed, strange half-smile on his face. “You're a very kind woman, to care about poor Cicero's soul so.”

“Not that kind,” said Melinda, wincing a little at the bruise just poking out from under his armour. “I just don't like it when my loved ones are taken away from me.”

Cicero finished dressing and began helping her with her own armour. “Can you save me from Sithis himself?”

Melinda vaguely recalled reading the name in a book about mythology – it was the Aldmer name for one of the two original gods: Anuiel the source of all existence and Sithis the principle of non-existence.

“I'll save you from anything, Cicero,” she promised. “And if you live with honour, your name will live on even after you die. I'll never forget you, even if the worst happens.”

Cicero helped her to her feet and kissed both her hands before staring into her eyes. She'd never seen a man look simultaneously adoringly happy and horribly conflicted before.

“Cicero will never forget you, no matter what happens,” he said, solemn for probably the first time since she'd ever met him. She put an arm around him, leading him out. Time enough to think and plan how to draw the Brotherhood out. Right now, a good meal and a hot bath were on the agenda and then, depending on what time it was, either take Cicero to bed and find out what else he liked having done to him, or possibly just curl up in his arms and fall asleep. He was both packmate and mate now, and no one harmed a Harbinger's mate if they wanted to live. No one.


	5. Beast Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one threatens a Harbinger's mate, and Cicero's not slow to take advantage of that status. However, one of Melinda's ideas for protecting her mate may not have been among her best...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter almost got left out then I decided it was just too much fun not to include. It can be summed up in two words: Werewolf Cicero. It's a little... bloody.
> 
> Some nice sexy fun in the opening scene as well, not terribly kinky but it's there.

Food, bath and then Cicero and Melinda had retired to the Harbinger's bed, snuggling under the blankets. Cicero hadn't really been ready for another round of penetrative sex but he'd made up for it by demonstrating what his fingers and tongue were capable of. He'd oiled her back and shoulders and massaged her until the tension just eased out of her, spending the next half hour lavishing her breasts with kisses and nibbles before kneeling between her legs and reverently kissing the soft inside of her thighs. Then he'd leaned to lick her sensitive areas and Melinda had cried out as his lips fixed on her clitoris. He'd not stopped until he'd driven her to orgasm. Afterwards he'd nestled in her arms, snuggling with her, apparently quite happy and quite adamant he didn't need anything doing for him.

“It was enough to watch you,” he murmured. “It has been a long time since Cicero has been intimate with anyone. You are so very beautiful, my sweet. Simply let humble Cicero adore and love you – he will be quite content.”

“You're quite welcome to do that any time,” Melinda murmured back, kissing the top of his head. Sweet Mara, she'd had lovers before, but none that had been quite so attentive. He was still tracing his fingers across her breasts as if he was enthralled. “Like them?”

“Yes,” Cicero breathed. “Gods yes, I can't stop touching you.”

Melinda held him tighter. This one was worth keeping. If this was him out of practice, she couldn't wait to find out what he'd be like after getting better acquainted with her. She just hoped the Brotherhood didn't get to him first. That thought was not a happy one and she kissed his cheek, wrapping arms and legs around him. They'd have to get through her first.

“Sweetness? Is something wrong?”

“No. Yes. I just... I don't want anything to happen to you. Oh I know you're quite capable, but still I worry. You're not a big burly Nord warrior like most of the other men in Jorrvaskr. Even Athis is taller. You're smaller than me and I just want to take care of you and protect you. Scares me to death thinking of anything happening to you.”

Cicero sighed and pulled her closer. “Sweetness. Cicero can defend himself against most things, you know. He's hardly helpless.”

“Yes, I know,” said Melinda, loving the feeling of him in her arms, all warmth and passion and those big brown eyes smiling up at her. “But the first time I met you, you were in trouble and running away from a big werewolf and when you saw the Dark Brotherhood had been here, you were terrified. Don't tell me you don't fear the Brotherhood coming for you.”

Cicero closed his eyes, saying nothing for a bit. Melinda stroked his hair, soft strands of it falling over her fingers. He had such lovely hair, she'd never seen anything quite like it.

“Cicero is worried, he has to confess,” he finally admitted. “Did... did sweet Melinda mean it? That she'd take on the Brotherhood themselves to protect her sweet Cicero?”

“Of course!” Melinda cried. “I wouldn't want anything to happen to you, and wiping those scum out would be an absolute pleasure.”

Cicero went very still, looking up at her with a frightening intensity in his eyes. “Cicero would not object if they all died horribly either,” he said softly. “Sweet Harbinger, we can fortify Jorrvaskr all we like, but if we just remain here, they will keep coming until we are dead. To be truly safe, we must poison their nest at its heart.”

“Spoken like a true warrior,” said Melinda. “But Cicero, how can we? We don't know where they are!”

Cicero said nothing. He still had that same intensity about him, and she recalled how conflicted he'd seemed earlier, after they'd first had sex. There was something similar about him now, as if he was thinking hard about something, making some difficult decision and weighing the consequences in his mind.

“Harbinger,” he said softly. “Cicero is hunted by the Brotherhood, yes, but it was no ordinary contract. He was... he was their hostage. A prisoner, trapped in their Sanctuary. An offering of himself, there to protect his dear Mother from harm. As long as he remained, she would be safe. But... but Astrid betrayed him. So Cicero took a knife and ran away, stabbing a few of them in the process. Astrid sent her husband Arnbjorn after Cicero to track him and kill him, and it nearly happened if you had not been there.”

Melinda didn't fully understand this – it didn't exactly sound like the Dark Brotherhood she knew but it was possible, she supposed.

“You're saying they were going to hurt your Mother, so you offered yourself as a hostage in her place. But they took you prisoner and killed her anyway?”

Cicero nodded. “Such rank betrayal!” he cried. “To hurt poor Cicero so! It was awful, awful!” He clung on to her, head between her breasts so she couldn't really see his face. “Cicero was devastated,” he whispered. “And angry, so angry! But what can one do against so many?”

“Not one,” Melinda whispered, just about managing to suppress the rage threatening to overwhelm her. “All of us. All of Jorrvaskr! So you were there, you know where their base is?”

Cicero finally looked up, gleeful smile on his face. “Oh yes! Cicero knows how to get there, what the passphrase is, everything! Names, descriptions, a plan of the Sanctuary, if Melinda wants it, she has it. Everything Melinda could possibly want to invade and slaughter them all!”

Melinda stared at him in disbelief, and then disbelief turned into joy, a fierce delight at the prospect of taking on the Brotherhood. They could do this. They could actually do this! She hugged him, delighted.

“You're serious. Actually serious?” she gasped, already plotting. Cicero nodded, giggling.

“Of course! But sweetling, Cicero has two conditions.”

“Anything,” said Melinda. “Anything you like, well, as long as it's legal and honourable and actually something I can give.”

“Oh, they are quite honourable, Cicero promises. Firstly, do not harm the Sanctuary itself or any of the fittings. Just kill those that live there, do not harm the furniture or burn it. Cicero thinks it would make a nice hideaway, if he ever felt the need to take a little trip away at any point.”

An odd request, but why not? “All right,” Melinda agreed. “We'll just kill the assassins, we'll make sure the place is as undamaged as possible. I don't think we'll be able to avoid a few breakages, and there'll be blood everywhere, but we'll do our best and no one will set fire to anything, I promise.”

“That is fine,” Cicero promised. “I don't mind a bit of mess to clean up, but outright vandalism would be bad.”

“We'll be careful,” said Melinda. “What else? You said there were two things you wanted.”

“Cicero wants to come,” said Cicero. “This thing happens with Cicero present or not at all. It's... personal.”

Melinda felt her blood run cold. She didn't want him there, didn't want those fiends anywhere near him, didn't want to risk one of them going for him in a suicide bid. But she could see from the set of his jaw and the firmness of his expression that he meant it. Either he went or the whole thing never happened. And he was a Shield-Brother now, he'd proved his worth as one of them. How could she deny a fully fit Companion the chance to avenge his mother? Still, she worried. He seemed so fragile compared to all the other Companions, and he refused to wear anything remotely substantial in the way of armour. How to keep him safe? How indeed. She could only think of one real option and she wasn't sure he'd like it.

“Cicero,” she began hesitantly, “how would you feel about accepting the beast blood? You know, becoming a werewolf. Like... like me.”

Cicero stared up at her, disbelieving. “Me? Humble Cicero? A werewolf??”

Melinda nodded. “Yes. I mean, you don't have to, but I'd feel a lot happier about bringing you with us if I knew you could use your beast form.”

“But that would change Cicero's afterlife,” said Cicero. “He'd go to the Hunting Grounds of Hircine. Not necessarily with Sithis in the Void.”

“If the Brotherhood don't find you, you wouldn't go there anyway,” said Melinda, confused. Cicero just smiled, a very odd look in his eyes.

“No, of course not,” he said, laughing. His grin broadened and he pulled her down to him for a long, passionate kiss.

“My Harbinger,” he breathed, letting her go. “Cicero is honoured to be offered such a gift. Of course he accepts.”

Melinda let out the breath she wasn't aware she'd been holding. _Mine, mine, truly mine, my pack brother!_ Her inner wolf was singing, joyful at the thought of inducting her new mate as one of them. Melinda was feeling fairly cheerful herself. Pulling the blankets over them both, she rolled Cicero on to his back, feeling the urge to taste him again. Time to celebrate.

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The following day and after a quick conversation with Aela about how Cicero's Trial had actually gone in which Aela had confirmed he was one of the most vicious fighters she'd ever seen and fully deserving of a place at Jorrvaskr, Melinda held Cicero's official swearing-in ceremony as a Companion. Aela had vouched for him and sworn to cut down his enemies, shield his back and raise a mug to his stories, all of which had had Cicero blushing as red as his hair and shuffling his feet. As the ceremony had finally finished, he'd looked up, stared into her eyes, amazed and a little tearful at such nice things being sincerely said about him. He'd run up and hugged each of the Circle, thanking them profusely, even Vilkas who'd looked a little shaken by the experience but awkwardly patted Cicero on the back anyway. Then he'd turned to her and been too choked up to say anything. He'd just kissed her in front of everyone. Well, if the whole of Jorrvaskr hadn't known before, they certainly did now. Melinda found it difficult to care. Being open was the best way to stop gossip in her opinion. 

She'd then announced to the whole of Jorrvaskr that their new Shield-Brother was being hunted by the Dark Brotherhood through no fault of his own, and that they knew he was here and would be coming for him.

“Are we going to let them hurt one of our own?” she shouted.

“No!” came the collected roar.

“Are we going to tolerate those backstabbing cowards sneaking in here to slit our throats in the night?” 

“NO!” The roar was louder this time. Cicero snuggled in next to her, looking a little awed by the response.

“Of course we're not!” she cried. “We're the Companions of Ysgramor, and we don't run from our foes! We face them and we fight, and if they're too afraid to face us, we will hunt them down until they have no choice! Who is with me in this?”

Everyone – Aela, Vilkas, Farkas, Torvar, Athis, Ria, Njada – everyone cheered at this, although in Torvar's case, it wasn't entirely clear he knew what he was cheering. Still, Melinda knew his heart was true and brave. He'd be there with the rest of them.

“I'm glad to hear it, my friends!” she laughed. “Because I know where their lair is, I know where to find them! And soon, I'm going there with Cicero and any of you who are true of heart and eager to share in the glory! We're going to find these murdering scum and we are going to cleanse this land of the Brotherhood's taint for good! Who is with me?”

Silence as the entire Fellowship of Ysgramor stared in disbelief. Then, as one, the Companions shouted in agreement. The resulting noise wasn't a Thu'um, but it nearly lifted the roof off Jorrvaskr.

“I am very pleased to hear it, my friends!” she laughed. “Go, repair your armour, sharpen your weapons, replenish your arrows and your potions. Make ready, for tomorrow afternoon, we leave. For the glory of Ysgramor!”

“For the glory!” came back the response, and then the Companions dispersed, chattering in excitement as each left to make his or her preparations. Melinda turned to Cicero, who seemed dumbstruck.

“Well, my brother, are you ready?” Melinda asked, tingling with anticipation. So long since she'd been on a good bloodletting rampage. She was very much looking forward to this one.

“Cicero cannot believe this is really happening,” he whispered, stunned. “You would do all this for me? All of you? Did – did you and nice Aela and Vilkas and Farkas really mean it when you said I was your brother?”

“Of course!” said Melinda, surprised. “I would never ask any Companion to stand up and swear to words they didn't mean. Aela likes you, Cicero. She says you're fierce and wild, like her. Farkas likes the way you never treat him like he's an idiot or call him ice-brain.”

“Why would Cicero do that?” Cicero asked, confused. “Cicero is only a simple fool himself, he wouldn't mock anyone else for being the same. Cicero likes Farkas, he's reassuring and doesn't treat Cicero like he's crazy.”

Melinda had to smile at that. It was true too, Cicero and Farkas could often be observed sitting side by side, neither really talking very much – well, Farkas was quiet, Cicero would usually be singing quietly to himself – but both seeming quite content. It was a strange little friendship but friendship it was. 

“Even Vilkas doesn't think you're so bad and he's usually a tough nut to crack. Cicero, we like you. You're entertaining and interesting and funny, and you're as good as anyone here. So what if you're a little different? You're one of us and that's what matters.”

Cicero melted into her arms, looking like he was about to cry. “Thank you,” he whispered. “For making Cicero feel so welcome. He – he's never felt so loved.”

“You are,” said Melinda softly, ruffling his hair and kissing the top of his head. “You're one of us now. We look after our own.”

Cicero clung on to her, saying nothing. Melinda felt her heart melt at the sight of him. Poor man. Poor, poor man. He must have had such a hard and lonely life before – he'd said he'd been alone for a long time. He must have been so desperate for company, desperate for friendship, affection, any physical contact at all. No wonder he was so overcome at being made welcome here. Melinda held him to her, determined to make up for lost time. This was his home now, and Melinda intended to ensure that her Cicero was never lonely or unloved or unwanted ever again.

~~~~~~~~~~~ 

That night, she took Cicero back to the Underforge for a less official but rather more primal welcoming. 

Aela was there waiting, still human for now.

“Harbinger, are you sure about this?” she asked, looking nervously at Cicero. “Once given, it's difficult to reverse, as you know.”

“Cicero's sure,” said Cicero, a low growl to his voice. “Cicero wants this very very much.”

“Well that's reassuring to know,” said Aela with a smile. “I'd hate to bestow it on the unwilling.”

Melinda squeezed Cicero's shoulder. “I offered it freely. He's accepted it freely. Aela, you don't have to do this, I can give him mine if you like.”

“Cicero's fine with going to the Hunting Grounds when he dies too!” Cicero chirped up. “It sounds _fabulous!_ Cicero likes the idea of spending his afterlife bringing down his prey.”

“Spoken like a true hunter,” Aela laughed. “Well Harbinger, if you're willing, I'll do it. It's easy enough. I change, you slice my arm and spill my blood into the font and then Cicero drinks it. Then Cicero, you'll change into beast form. Don't worry, it's temporary and in future you'll be able to control when the change happens. I warn you, it's a little intense. Are you ready?”

“Ready,” Cicero said, his voice dropping into a low register that sent shivers down Melinda's spine. Aela nodded and then changed, transforming into her wolf form right before their eyes. Melinda shivered as the transformation took hold, and Cicero's eyes were huge and wide. It was hard to tell if he was afraid or in awe. He stared up at the huge wolf-beast that had been Aela.

“Do you still want this?” Melinda asked, approaching her Shield-Sister and producing her own dagger, a Skyforge one that had once been Skjor's. Same one used in her own turning, in fact. Cicero nodded.

“Yes,” he said, cruel little smile on his face. “Yes, give me the blood.”

Melinda took a deep breath. Now or never. She sliced Aela's arm in one quick movement and held the wound over the stone bowl, letting the blood pour out. Aela howled but did not fight, not until the bowl was full and she pulled away, licking at her arm. Melinda cleaned the knife, feeling relieved she'd not had to give her own blood. That had looked painful and Aela was still not fully recovered from her previous injuries. 

“It's all right, sister,” she said softly, holding a cloth to the wound and using her limited healing magic to bind it. “It'll heal just fine. There you go, it's knitting together already.” 

Aela was still whimpering and it took a moment for Melinda to realise that the werewolf wasn't whimpering from the pain. No, she was staring over Melinda's shoulder. Melinda turned around just in time to see Cicero wiping the beast blood from his mouth, grin on his face. Then he started screaming.

“It burns, it burns!” he screamed, collapsing to the floor. 

“Cicero!” Melinda cried, running to his side. He was writhing on the floor, clearly in pain and Melinda was sure her first change hadn't been like this. Something was wrong, she was sure of it. Cicero thrashed from side to side, then fur started sprouting from his skin and he threw back his head, howling. His armour straps snapped, clothes falling off him as the change took him, speeding up as muscles filled out, he shot up in height and reddish-brown fur coated his body.

A vicious roar echoed around the room as the new werewolf sat up, looking about him before getting to his feet, perfectly balanced in a predator's stance. Shorter then either she or Aela were in their beast forms, but still strong. Reddish-brown fur like his hair, dark beast eyes, but most disturbing of all, that feral mouth of his was curved permanently into a grin. 

She looked at the wolf. The wolf looked back at her... and then it giggled, making a sound that could only be described as “EEHEEHEE!!” Next thing she knew, he'd bolted for the door, kicked it open and gone fleeing off into Whiterun.

“Mara have mercy,” Melinda whispered in horror. “What have I done?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Farkas! Farkas!” Melinda cried, rushing into Jorrvaskr. He was still a werewolf, the only one in Jorrvaskr apart from her and Aela, who was still in the Underforge, turning back and getting dressed.

“What's up, Harbinger?” Farkas asked, curious. It was rare she needed his help in particular, but here she was asking.

“It's Cicero,” she said, lowering her voice. “Aela and I gave him the beast blood and now he's gone!”

And she needed another werewolf to help find him. Well, that made sense.

“All right,” Farkas sighed. “Well, he can't have gone far and it's not hard to spot a werewolf. Let's go.”

Aela met them outside, human again and dressed, if a little dishevelled. She was looking worried, and Farkas noticed with some surprise how quiet it was out in Whiterun. Not at all what usually happened when a werewolf got loose in the city, as had been the case with Melinda's turning.

“I don't hear him,” said Farkas, confused. “Isn't there normally screaming by now?”

Aela nodded, her face grim. “Yes. That's the problem. He's out there in the city, and somehow he's managed to hide. He could be out there doing anything.”

Farkas scratched his head, now really confused. “How?” he asked. “Werewolves can't sneak.”

“Apparently this one can,” said Melinda. She didn't often look frightened but now was one of those times. “Can either of you hear him?”

They fell silent and concentrated, trying to scent their new pack brother. Nothing out of the ordinary, and then they all smelt it. Nearby, the unmistakeable scent of one of their own, lurking nearby.

“Terrible and powerful Talos!” Heimskr cried out, his voice echoing across the square. “We, your unworthy servants, give praise! For only through your grace and benevolence may we- ackkkk!” 

Heimskr exploded in a spray of blood and viscera as Cicero leapt from behind the Shrine to Talos and tore the man apart, cackling as he did so. Guards cried out and various passing citizens leapt out of the way as Cicero bolted off in the direction of the Temple of Kynareth.

“There he is! After him!” Melinda cried. With Farkas and Aela in tow, she sprinted forward, hoping to catch up with Cicero now she knew where he'd gone. 

No luck. He slipped into the shadows and when Melinda caught up he'd just vanished. Nowhere to be seen. She wished she could change into her own beast form and track him that way, but that would just make things worse. 

“How is he doing this?” she asked out loud as Farkas and Aela caught up. 

“I have to admit, this is new,” said Aela. “It's not normally this hard to find a new werewolf.”

“He's around here somewhere,” Farkas muttered. “I can hear his heart beating. I think he's over-”

Idolaf Battleborn stepped around the corner, heading for his home. He never made it. Cicero sprang out of nowhere, claws wrapping round his throat as he wrestled Idolaf to the ground. Blood spurted everywhere as Cicero ripped Idolaf's head off, giggling away as he did so.

“Get back here!” Melinda cried, horrified as she raced after Cicero. True, she'd killed two guards and left Belethor with scars down his arm on her turning, so she couldn't really judge Cicero. But all the same, she'd suggested this to him and fed him the blood. Now look at him.

Cicero dropped Idolaf and ran off. The three Companions fled after him.

No sign of him as they ran down the steps towards Warmaiden's. No sign of him, although word had got around and the guards were all on edge. 

“So,” growled Farkas. “We ready to say he's given us more trouble than you or I did yet, Harbinger?”

A furry shape flung itself off the roof of the Drunken Huntsman and into Lilith Maiden-Loom. The poor old woman never stood a chance. Her screams echoed around the street and then stopped as Cicero tore into her. Melinda ran over, knowing it was too late for Lilith, but maybe she could at least get Cicero under control.

“Get over here!” she shouted at Cicero. “Bad wolf!”

Cicero looked up and the most pitiful noise she'd ever heard came out of his throat, a sort of half-whine, half-whimper as those dark eyes looked soulfully at her. The blood and flesh dripping off his teeth and claws did ruin the effect slightly though. 

“I'm warning you!” Melinda snapped. “Back... off!”

Cicero actually did step back a few paces, then one of the guards decided to shoot an arrow at him. Bad move. Cicero's lips curled back in a snarl and then he raced forward on all fours, ripping the guard's arms off and tearing his throat open. Then without another sound, he ran off, disappearing behind Warmaiden's. Heart in her mouth, Melinda chased after him... but he was gone. He'd managed to hide away somewhere and Melinda had no idea where.

“He can't stay transformed for much longer,” she heard Aela say. “He'll have to turn back soon.”

“Not if he keeps feeding,” Melinda whispered. And given that he could apparently conceal himself without a trace in a busy city like Whiterun, this could take some time.

“He's got to sleep eventually,” said Farkas. Melinda could only hope this was true, for all their sakes.

The three Companions patrolled for the next half hour, but no further deaths happened. Cicero must have gone to ground somehow, and Melinda could only hope for all their sakes he'd changed back and managed to find a place to hide. She was on the verge of heading back to Jorrvaskr when she saw her housecarl Lydia approaching.

“My thane,” said Lydia grimly. “May we talk?”

“Not now,” said Melinda, distracted. “Something's come up, and I really need to deal with it.”

“Yes it has and yes you do, but it's not out here,” sighed Lydia. “It's back at Breezehome.”

Aela and Farkas glanced at each other and smiled.

“Maybe you should go,” said Aela, amused.

“Yeah, we'll keep looking out here in case he turns up. Don't expect to find anything though,” said Farkas. Melinda nodded her thanks and followed Lydia back to her home.

Inside was something she'd not expected to see. Curled up on top of her dining room table, fast asleep and clutching his hat in his hands but otherwise stark naked was the cause of all the trouble, Cicero himself, back in his human form.

“How...?” Melinda asked. She must have patrolled this street a dozen times and not seen him get inside.

“I heard the commotion outside and was about to go and help when it went quiet,” said Lydia. “So I decided not to bother. Then about five minutes later there was this knock on the door. I went to see who it was, saw no one, was about to go inside when your friend there jumped off the roof and pushed past me. My thane, why is he here and where are his clothes?”

“You don't want to know,” said Melinda, simultaneously embarrassed and pathetically grateful that Cicero was safe and not ripping anyone else to shreds. “Why don't you head upstairs, I can sort this out.”

Lydia nodded and left, rather glad to leave Melinda to it. Melinda gently nudged Cicero awake.

Cicero blinked, yawned and opened his eyes, still sleepy. He looked adorable and it was hard to believe his beast form had been terrorising the town not an hour ago.

“Cicero,” said Melinda. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” said Cicero. “But happy. I had such a nice dream, of hunting and killing and _blood!_ So much blood and I didn't even need to stab anyone, I had teeth and claws and I was so fast!”

“You certainly were,” said Melinda. “Cicero, you're a werewolf now. Like... like me. And it wasn't a dream – you killed four people out there.”

“Four!” Cicero gasped. That news woke him up. Most people newly turned were horrified at what they'd managed to do under the blood's influence. Not Cicero.

“Four whole people!” he squealed. “In under an hour? Ooh! Cicero thinks that may be a new record for him.”

Sweet, sweet Divines, this had been a terrible idea. Cicero didn't seem to think so because next minute he'd replaced his hat on his head and was kissing her. Divines help her, she was kissing him back and there'd been something violently beautiful about the way he'd mauled his prey that appealed to her own inner wolf. He was strong, no doubt about it, but oh dear sweet Mara, she should be appalled at the bloodshed, she should definitely not be finding it arousing.

“No hunting in cities again, you hear me?” she said as he broke off the kiss, smiling at her, still looking a little wolfish. “Save it for the wilds, for lawful prey. No hunting innocent townsfolk! You killed an old woman and a priest!”

“Yes,” Cicero grimaced. “They did taste a little stringy, those two. Not much meat on them. The guard and the young warrior fat from easy living, now they were tasty.”

“Cicero!” Melinda hissed, smacking his arse. Cicero shivered at the blow, snuggling against her. “You're meant to use this gift to protect yourself and fight your enemies, not innocent people!”

Cicero looked up at her, seductive smile on his face and utterly unrepentant. “Oh, Cicero shall do that, most certainly,” he murmured. He stroked her face, kissing her cheek. “Thank you, my Harbinger,” he said, his tone becoming a little more serious. “You don't know what you've given me.”

_I've made an already dangerous man into a monster._ But she didn't say it out loud. How could she judge him when the same blood flowed in her own veins? It wasn't like she was safe, but at least she knew she could be trusted. She wasn't entirely sure Cicero could be. Still, too late now. Tomorrow they'd march on Falkreath and at least she knew he'd have the edge. After that... well. She really didn't know. But she'd do her best to channel Cicero's energies into good causes. He was an unholy terror, but there was a very fine line between hero and monster sometimes as she knew all too well. At least if he was with her, she could try and keep him on the right side of it.

“Come on, Cicero,” she sighed. “Let's find you something to wear and get you back to Jorrvaskr. Can't have you walking around Whiterun like that. How'd you manage to keep the hat with you?”

“Cicero never loses his hat!” said Cicero, as if that explained everything. In fact, he looked confused at the very question. Melinda decided not to press for answers. Instead, she led him upstairs to find him some spare armour to at least make him decent. Time to get him home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are trying to visualise the horror that is Werewolf Cicero, imagine the Tasmanian Devil cartoon character except a bit bigger, red tinge to the fur and on crack. That's pretty close.
> 
> Next chapter, it's Companions vs Brotherhood as Cicero visits his old home.


	6. Sanctuary Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Companions march on Falkreath, but Cicero's secrets may prove more damaging than any assassin's blade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter, this one, but an action-packed one. I have the next written, and will probably be posting at the weekend, so you won't be left hanging for long, lovely readers.
> 
> Gore, blood, character death, and the last scene's a wee bit sad.

Sunset, and as she always did around this sort of time, every night since the attack, since the Fool had gone mad and Arnbjorn had chased after him, never to return, Astrid reached for a wine bottle and retreated to her bedroom.

He wasn't coming back. Arnbjorn was lost to her forever, she knew that. Still she could never quite give up hope. That would mean admitting she'd lost her beloved wolf for good.

Veezara was gone as well. They'd not found Arnbjorn's body, but they'd heard rumours in Whiterun of a new member of the Companions, a short redhaired Imperial who'd gone a little too far in dealing with the tavern bard. She'd sent Veezara to check it out. Bad move. She knew she should have asked Babette instead. The Argonian still hadn't returned and Astrid guessed that was another member of her Family gone. Whether the rumours were actually true or whether the Companions just hadn't taken well to someone caught snooping around Jorrvaskr, she didn't know, but either way they were down to just the five of them.

She took another swig of the wine. It was the only thing that really helped – at least the only thing other than the thought of Cicero's head on a pike, of course. She would find that treacherous little fool if it was the last thing she did.

In the distance, the Black Door opened. Strange, weren't they all in for the evening? Unless...

“Arnbjorn?” she whispered, hope flaring inside. It couldn't be... not after all this time. She reached for the Blade of Woe just in case, feeling uneasy.

The bedroom door opened. It wasn't Arnbjorn.

“Well now,” said Astrid, somehow managing to stay calm despite the hate boiling up inside. “Fancy seeing you back here. Did you miss Mummy Dearest, Cicero?”

Cicero stood there in his jester outfit, dagger at his belt and a particularly sharp looking steel sword on his other side. He was smiling as if at some private joke.

“Oh always, Astrid, Cicero is such a dutiful son, you know that!” he laughed playfully.

“I do indeed,” said Astrid, beginning to smile herself. “I'm glad you came back, Cicero. Saves me the trouble of hunting you down, wasting any more of my Family trying to find you. May I take it you killed my Arnbjorn?”

“Your wolf is dead,” said Cicero casually. “Cicero is very sorry but he got in the way of a battleaxe.”

Astrid breathed fast, fighting for calm. She knew it, she'd known it all along but to hear it confirmed... It would not break her. She swore to herself she would stay strong, at least long enough to carve the little fool to pieces.

“Thank you for telling me,” she said, advancing. “It will make killing you a positive delight.”

Cicero's grin broadened. “What, is dear Astrid upset?” he purred. “She really shouldn't be. Astrid likes werewolves?” He darted out of the way, laughing as she struck at him with the Blade of Woe. “Cicero brought one.”

Movement by the door and Astrid turned to see a large black werewolf bearing down on her. She struck out at it with the Blade of Woe, slashing its chest open. The beast roared in response, lashing out with its claws, slicing her face open and sending her staggering back, half-blind and in agony. Before she could do anything else, it was on her, howling in rage and tearing at her. Astrid tried to fight but the beast was stronger. One bite later and it was all over.

Cicero watched as Melinda tore Astrid apart, bloodied corpse sinking to the floor. He bit his lip to stifle a moan, cock hard at the sight of Astrid dead, Melinda so strong and dangerous and doing all this for him, for poor humble Cicero, and all the _blood_. Honestly, if it weren't for the fact that there were four other assassins to deal with and the rest of the Companions flooding into the Sanctuary, battlecries in full voice and weapons at the ready, he'd have changed into his own beast form and pounced on Melinda there and then. As it was, he restrained himself. Later, when this was all over and they had a bit more privacy. 

He picked up Astrid's dagger, the Blade of Woe, legendary weapon of the Brotherhood, traditionally wielded by its leader. His now. Not that he was the leader of the Brotherhood, no. But after this, he'd be its sole member. He pushed away the sadness he felt at this. This was no time to get sentimental. Sheathing the Blade of Woe, he looked up at Melinda.

“Of the last three, two are spellcasters and another is a vampire,” he reminded her. “The others will need you. Aela's not strong enough to use her beast form, and Farkas won't use his unless he has to.”

Melinda bent down, nuzzling his cheek and growled, before bounding off after the others. Already he could hear magic and screaming. Time to join the fight himself. Concentrating, he began changing into his own beast form. Time for this Sanctuary to have a good Purification.

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The battle was hard-fought but in the end, numbers told. The two spell-casters fought well, sending Ria staggering back with burns on her arm, but Farkas and Vilkas didn't even flinch, toughing their way through lightning and frost to hack them to pieces. Meanwhile the frostbite spider fell to one of Aela's arrows.

The Alik'r Redguard was a tougher prospect, duelling Athis with a speed and precision the Dunmer was having a hard time countering. However, the sight of Torvar bearing down on him with a warhammer distracted him at a crucial moment and Athis took full advantage. The Redguard breathed his last and fell dead.

The child gave all of them pause, even Melinda's beast form unwilling to strike down what looked like a helpless child pleading for her life even though she could smell undeath all over her.

Fortunately, Cicero had no such qualms. As the little vampire pleaded for them to let her go, she was just a little girl the Dark Brotherhood had taken prisoner, the red-furred werewolf bounded across the Sanctuary, straight on to the girl and before Melinda could stop him, he'd ripped her head off.

Finally it was all over, and the Companions were rejoicing. Melinda had paused to learn a Thu'um off the Sanctuary Word Wall, before retrieving her armour and getting dressed. Cicero had fled off after killing the vampire girl, running off into the back of the Sanctuary. To do what, Melinda had no idea, but if he'd lived here once, he probably had belongings to find and collect.

It was done anyway. The Dark Brotherhood had been vanquished. Cicero was safe. Melinda could barely believe it. Tamriel was safe forever. 

The rest of the Companions were filing out, singing and laughing, celebrating their victory. Vilkas was bandaging Ria's wounds and offering some healing potions to her, Torvar was drunkenly asking Athis what sort of bandits had stained glass windows in their lair anyway, Farkas was just trailing along behind in silence, matter of fact as always. Aela, last to leave, turned to Melinda.

“Coming, Harbinger?” she asked.

“In a second,” said Melinda. “I want to find out where Cicero got to. I think this place has a few memories for him, and not good ones. I should look for him. Why don't you all head back to Jorrvaskr? I'll find him and catch up with you.”

“If you're sure, Melinda,” said Aela, a little uncertain but not one to tell her Harbinger what to do. “We'll be sure to keep a horn of mead warm for you.”

Melinda laughed and bade her goodbye, before turning to explore. One steel door on her left was locked, and Melinda didn't fancy pawing over Astrid's bloodied remains to try and find the key. She followed the path towards the back of the Sanctuary, finding a few small bedrooms, one of which had clearly belonged to an alchemist. Melinda gathered up the alchemy ingredients – she was no master, but it was an entertaining little hobby. Leaving that room, she stuck her head into the next one along. Not so spacious this one, in fact it look more like a disused store room that had been converted into a bedroom at the last minute. There was even a hole in the roof and the whole place was cold and miserable. She pitied whoever had had this one and then she realised. This must have been Cicero's room. 

The place had been thoroughly turned over – Cicero? Or Astrid searching for clues to his whereabouts? Could be either, but Melinda suspected Astrid, not least because there were five journals just sitting on the table. A look at the cover confirmed they were Cicero's. She recognised the handwriting.

She shouldn't. She really shouldn't. She should let him have his privacy. All the same, he was so close-lipped about his past and Melinda doubted she'd find out any other way. She flicked Volume One open and glanced at the first page.

_18th of Evening Star, 4E 186  
As I begin this new phase of my life, I have decided to finally keep a journal. So much has happened to me thus far, both within the Brotherhood and without - when I think there is no record of what has transpired, it almost seems an affront to Sithis himself. So I am determined to make amends._

_Yes, the Dark Brotherhood has its own scribes and chroniclers, but it is their solemn task to record those events deemed important to the organization as a whole. Let this volume serve as the personal record of one man, a lowly assassin who has pledged his blade and his life for the Dark Brotherhood._

Melinda sank on to a nearby chair, her legs suddenly giving out beneath her. Dark Brotherhood. No. No no no, it wasn't true, it couldn't be! Not her Cicero, not her sweet, loving, tender Cicero, it couldn't be, it couldn't...

Of course it could. She already knew he could fight. That his entire style of combat was suited to moving fast, keeping out of sight and striking before the enemy even knew he was there. He was no hunter, no mercenary, he was a highly trained assassin, and he'd not been a hostage here at all, he'd been one of them. They'd clearly thrown him out after he'd fallen out with Astrid and she'd got in the way of them executing one of their own. And he'd used her to get revenge. 

_He never loved me. It was just an act. He used me._

She could cry. But she didn't. Instead she kept reading. The journals weren't long despite the period of years they covered, and Melinda had always been a voracious reader. Finally she laid the last one down, still shaking. Dear sweet Divines... Everything about him, explained. Every single thing he'd ever said, understandable, from the madness to his misery over the loss of a leader. That was what hurt the most. There had been something there, she was sure of it. He'd listened and he'd understood. He'd not mocked her fear of the Falmer – he'd only laughed because he couldn't imagine her being afraid. He'd saved Aela's life. There was a good man in there somewhere. Or at least, there might have been once. Not any more. Now he was the Night Mother's. His real mother probably died years ago.

Melinda could forgive a lot, but she couldn't forgive being used and lied to.

Taking the journals, she got up, exploring the rest of the place. It didn't take long to find Cicero. He was sitting in the room on the other side of the stained glass window, dressed in a set of black and red robes taken from the corpse of the old man plus his jester hat, curled up at the foot of a huge coffin. He was resting his head against it, eyes shut and stroking the side.

“Mother,” he was whispering. “Mother, Mother, I did it, Cicero killed the defilers. You're safe, it's all right, you're safe, I'm here.”

“Cicero,” said Melinda softly. He opened his eyes and looked up, seeing her there and sitting up, horrorstruck.

“Melinda. I didn't realise you were there. I – is everything alright?”

The anger must have shown on her face, because he looked terrified – and very, very guilty. Melinda threw the journals at him.

“I know, Cicero,” she said. “I read your journal. You never were their prisoner. You were one of them. You weren't protecting your own mother, you were Keeper of the Night Mother!”

Cicero stared at the journals as if he'd never seen them, before slowly looking up.

“I can explain,” he said quickly.

“Don't bother!” Melinda snapped. “I read your journal, it's pretty clear what happened! You didn't like Astrid because she abandoned your old ways, you never found a Listener here, you finally lost your temper and got kicked out. Then you found me, and wow, that must have been a dream come true, hmm?”

“Yes,” Cicero whispered. “Yes, it was.” Melinda was too angry to even take in what he was implying.

“Get in with the Companions, make friends, become one of them, persuade us to take on the Sanctuary that betrayed you and make us take your revenge for you – got to hand it to you, Cicero, it was a damn good plan, and it worked too, didn't it? There's just one thing I don't understand. Why in Oblivion you felt it necessary to seduce me. Don't you know I'd have done this anyway?”

Melinda was shouting by this time, the furniture shaking a little. Cicero was cringing on the floor, holding the coffin to stabilise it.

“I'm sorry,” he cried. “So sorry!” Melinda wasn't entirely sure even now who that was aimed at, her or the Night Mother.

“Just tell me why!” she shouted.

“Because I'm in love with you!” Cicero shouted back. “Because you're beautiful and sweet and fierce and strong and how could humble Cicero not want you? Melinda, I swear, I didn't join the Companions just to get back at the pretender Astrid. Cicero joined because of you. Because you were kind to me. Because you believed in me. Because the Companions of Ysgramor were kinder to me than my own Dark Brothers and Sisters were! Please don't send poor Cicero away, please! I'll do anything!”

For the briefest of seconds, Melinda felt the rage abate. Cicero genuinely looked heartbroken. And love... Need, want, possession, those she understood. But love... love scared the hell out of her. And did a Dark Brotherhood assassin even know what love was? She doubted it. 

“Anything?” she asked. Cicero nodded, terrified.

“Anything,” he whispered. Melinda unshouldered Wuuthrad.

“Then stand aside,” she hissed. Cicero's eyes widened in horror as he realised what she was going to do.

“NO!” he shrieked, producing a dagger from his sleeve. It wasn't his usual one, just a simple iron dagger that the dead mage must have been carrying. He was pale but determined, dropping into a warrior stance, back to the Night Mother.

“Cicero,” said Melinda firmly. “Get. Out. Of. The. Way.”

“No!” Cicero wailed, heartbreak all over his face but not moving. “I can't. I promised, I promised! I won't let you hurt her, I won't!”

“Cicero, please,” Melinda snapped at him. “Don't be ridiculous. You're not going to win against me. Not with that thing.”

“Doesn't matter!” Cicero shouted. “Cicero will protect Mother with his life! So kill me, if you're so keen to wipe out the Dark Brotherhood! Kill me, kill Mother, finish the job! Cicero will die with a blade in his hands, isn't that the important thing?”

He was gasping for breath, tears rolling down his cheeks, face twisted in hate and rage and who knew what else. He clearly had no intention of moving. He might be pledged to the service of evil, but Melinda couldn't deny the man had honour. If she wanted to finish the job and destroy the Night Mother's body... she'd have to kill him.

The thought chilled her to the bone. Cicero lying dead on the floor, and by her hand. Head severed, blood everywhere, the laughter silenced for good.

She couldn't do it. Talos help her, she couldn't do it. Not when she'd held him in her arms, felt him writhing against her, smaller and somehow more vulnerable despite his seeming ability to kill anything in his path. Not when she'd told him personally that dying with honour was better than living without it. He'd taken in more than she'd thought. 

Slowly, she lowered Wuuthrad.

“I'm leaving now,” she said, just about able to keep the emotion out of her voice. “You... I don't want to see you again. You used us – used me. So you got what you wanted. You got the Night Mother back, got your revenge. I hope you're happy. Just stay far away from me.” Shouldering the axe, she walked away.

“Melinda?” she heard him cry, voice faltering. Then again, stronger this time. “Melinda! Don't leave me! Please! I'm sorry, I love you, poor Cicero didn't mean – DON'T LEAVE ME!!!!” He practically howled the last. Melinda felt her heart breaking, but she was a true Nord and true Nords did not throw away their principles just because someone had wormed their way into her heart and made their home there. Barely holding back the tears, she raced out of the Sanctuary before Cicero's agonised screaming could shatter her resolve completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Cicero. I'm so mean to him. Group hug for the jester, everyone! 
> 
> I am also very sorry about Falkreath Brotherhood as well. At least it was quicker than the Oculatus were.


	7. Ill Met By Moonlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two months after walking out on Cicero, Melinda's back in Falkreath after hearing news of a brutal werewolf attack. In a stroke of irony, predator becomes prey, hero becomes hunted and the knight in shining armour's an unrepentant killer in black leather.

_Two months later_

Running, running, running, fleeing through the night, fleeing for her life, fleeing anywhere, racing through Skyrim's Pine Forest as if Dagon himself were after her.

She'd have turned and faced Mehrunes Dagon with Wuuthrad in her hand and a song on her lips. She couldn't turn and kill innocent townsfolk who were just protecting themselves from a werewolf in their midst.

Once again, she cursed herself for ever having come back here. Forget fear of the Falmer, any job south of Riverwood had been tersely shoved on to any Companion fit to fight. It was as if Skyrim had lost a hold as far as she was concerned. She'd thrown out or sold anything that Cicero had left in Jorrvaskr – that hadn't been much. He'd had his jester outfit, Skyforge steel weapons and his ebony dagger on him. She'd not told the others why he'd not come back, only that he'd decided to stay in Falkreath. She'd later admitted to Aela that they'd argued but refused to say what about. She couldn't bring herself to admit she'd been taken in so completely.

She'd cured Farkas of his beast blood and killed a few dragons, including the World-Eater himself. The bards were singing of her victory already. Skyrim was safe. But she was heartbroken, bitter and lonely. 

Then Vilkas had come back from clearing out Ilinalta's Deep with Ria, telling stories of a horrible murder down in Falkreath. A werewolf tearing apart a little girl. Apparently they'd had the bastard imprisoned while they figured out what to do with him.

She hadn't even waited to hear the end. She'd been gone, running, knowing deep in her heart that it must be Cicero, had to be, he'd lost himself to the blood she'd given him. Her idea, her mistake and now an innocent girl was dead and her parents' lives destroyed. She wasn't even sure what she was going to say, but she had to make amends somehow. Plus a rather large part of her couldn't see Cicero executed without at least seeing him again.

It hadn't been Cicero. It had been a fellow Nord called Sinding, infected with a different strain of lycanthropy that was controlled by the moons. He'd wanted control of the changes and stolen a ring from Hircine. Bad move. One curse later and now the ring would change any werewolf wearing it entirely at random. He'd been trying to commune with Hircine here to persuade him to lift the curse. Melinda had been so relieved it hadn't been Cicero, she'd agreed to help without a second thought.

Now here she was, stuck with the ring herself. It had got itself stuck to her finger and she couldn't get it off. She'd realised with dawning horror that that meant she had Sinding's curse. She'd fled town immediately, gone out to commune with Hircine by killing that stag and been told that in order to free herself, she'd need to kill Sinding and sacrifice him. Kill an innocent man or spend the rest of her most likely short life as a savage beast, never knowing when the change was going to come. She'd been so lonely and depressed, she'd gone back to Falkreath to drown her sorrows. One teasing comment from Narri and that had been it. The change had come upon her right there and she'd only just had time to flee the inn, disappearing round the back to let the change take her in private at least. After that, she'd lost control entirely and changed. 

The one saving grace was that at least she still had her mind and had fled without hurting anyone, but the townsfolk, after Sinding's escape, were even more hostile to werewolves than normal, and now a lynch mob was after her. She'd been able to outdistance them, but she could still hear them and her trail was not hard to find. She had to keep running.

“There!” 

Melinda looked up, her heart sinking. Hunters. Coming the other way with wares to sell in town. They'd probably know about the price on Sinding's head and didn't most werewolves look much the same?

_Cicero didn't. Cicero looked very different._

She couldn't think of him now. All she could think was how to get out of this. Arrows were being fired and they were blocking the way, but she couldn't go back. Not with half of Falkreath on her tail.

Turning east, she ran. It would take her back to the road, but if she went north after that, that would take her to the lake. Maybe she could swim for safety and lose them. Plus if she changed back, it wouldn't be so far to Riverwood and her secret stash of spare armour and weapons at the Sleeping Giant. She just hoped she didn't change back there as well.

“After it!” More arrows, and then something thrown, landing on her and tripping her up. A net catching her and tangling her limbs, and the more she fought, the more it ensnared her.

The hunters advanced, grinning and laughing at capturing a werewolf. Hand weapons had been drawn as they gathered round. Soon it would be all over. Melinda could only hope that she didn't change back after death. Better the world never knew how far she'd fallen. She moaned piteously, letting out one mournful howl. It wouldn't save her, but it was the nearest she could get to last words.

“Now, you child-murdering bastard,” the lead hunter laughed, war axe raised. “Let's see if you're so tough now, eh?” He lifted it back to strike. Melinda closed her eyes and braced herself.

The impact never came. An arrow flew overhead, taking him neatly in the throat. He sank to the ground, axe falling, dead. His friends, two men and a woman, all Nords, looked up to face this new threat. Another arrow did for the woman, and then as the two men raised their own bows, a black and red shadow sprang from the undergrowth, wielding a viciously curved dagger that she'd only ever seen one of before – in the hands of the late Astrid, leader of the Dark Brotherhood. This person however, despite wearing the same red and black leather armour, was all male and all too familiar.

Cicero went straight for the archer first, his dagger scything into the other man's abdomen, up and under the ribcage in a practised move that left his opponent bleeding his last into the grass. Turning to face the last man standing, he drew his Skyforge steel sword and expertly duelled the hunter, blades moving so fast Melinda could barely see them. The hunter tried to fight back, but he was no match at all for a skilled opponent that could fight back and used tactics. In a spray of blood, Cicero ended the man's life and hastily wiped down his blades on the grass.

Melinda felt her vision blurring as the change reversed, and seconds later she was lying on the ground, naked, sobbing, still tangled in the net as her former lover, his face mostly hidden by that cowl, advanced with the Blade of Woe. 

“Cicero... please...” she sobbed, not even sure what she was pleading for. A quick death, perhaps? She no longer even cared what awaited her beyond it.

Cicero knelt by her side, his eyes gentle as he began to slice through the net.

“Ssh, ssh, there is not much time,” he murmured. “Falkreath guards are on their way, Melinda cannot be found here when they arrive. Now that horrible net is off you, let's be moving – oh sweetling, sweetling, do not cry, please!”

Melinda couldn't even speak properly. She'd turned into a monster out of nightmare and now here was the last Dark Brotherhood assassin, a fellow monster out of nightmare, coming to her rescue. She let him hold her, weeping on his shoulder, knowing she should be running away but too desperate and pathetically grateful to care.

“I'm sorry,” she sobbed. “So sorry!”

Cicero hugged her tighter. “So is Cicero,” he said gently. “Come, come, take the woman's armour, it is about your size. And some weapons too, yes.”

Melinda pulled on the studded armour, wincing at the blood staining it. It just about fit but it felt so insubstantial compared to what she was used to. Grabbing a bow, arrows, war axe and a sword, she turned to Cicero, feeling ridiculous but having nowhere else to turn. 

“Now where?” she asked. Cicero took her hand and ran into the forest. She didn't know where they were going, and she had a feeling he wasn't taking the most direct route anyway. Deeper into the woods, on a winding trail that doubled back at least three times, until the sound of the mob grew faint. Finally he led her back to the road, and then she realised where he was taking her. Falkreath Sanctuary. Well, where else would he be living?

Steeling herself, she followed him inside.

~~~~~~~~

The place did not reek of blood and death, in fact from the look of Astrid's former bedroom, it seemed Cicero had been busy cleaning non-stop. The bedding had been replaced entirely, the bedframe looked to have been revarnished, and the room had been repainted in moss green. A new rug made from a sabre cat pelt covered the spot where Astrid died.

“Cicero has disposed of the bodies and cleaned up most of the blood in this room,” he said awkwardly, pulling the cowl off and patting his hair back into shape. “He recommends dear Melinda avoids the enchanting lab though. Cicero hasn't got round to painting that room yet. The kitchen is done though, it's just not fully dry. Best avoided too – Cicero has stored sufficient supplies for the next few days in the chapel.”

Melinda sank on to the bed. It was extremely comfortable. She could sleep quite easily on here.

“Thank you,” she sighed, feeling the panic start to ebb. Maybe she was cursed, but at least she wasn't alone. “I hope I'm not putting you to any trouble.”

“You've never been any trouble to me, sweetling,” said Cicero softly. “Are you hungry? Thirsty? Can I get you anything?”

“I'm fine,” said Melinda, feeling queasy at the mere thought of eating. “But thank you. You don't have to...” _Didn't have to save my life._

“Cicero thinks he did,” he said, firelight reflecting off his face and making his eyes look darker than usual. “And Melinda clearly is not fine, or Cicero would not have found her being hunted down and vulnerable and scared.” 

“How did you find me?” Melinda asked, keen to distract herself from flashbacks of being caught and trapped and about to die.

“I was out hunting,” said Cicero. “It's what I do. Not people, no, but animals. Cicero has to make a living somehow. He cooks the meat, sells the pelts in Falkreath, sells alchemy ingredients to the nice alchemist too. It is enough. And sometimes there are bounties to be had on bandit camps. Those pay well. They pay well indeed! Cicero likes Falkreath. He helped out the nice Jarl, and the nice Elven priest and a few others and now Cicero is Thane of Falkreath!”

“Thane,” said Melinda, disbelieving. “Of Falkreath. You.”

Cicero nodded, excited. “Yes! Humble Cicero! Titled! Me! Cicero does like living here now. He is less lonely now than when the others were here.”

Well, she'd done him that favour at least. Truth be told, it was nice to hear of him doing well and fitting in, at least a little.

“So you were out hunting and that's when you heard the commotion, I suppose,” she said. Cicero nodded, his excitement fading.

“Yes,” he said. “I was exploring, using my own beast form, carrying my pack in my mouth with all my gear, when what should I come across but a scent I knew well. I didn't know if I should follow or not, but then I heard cries and knew you were in trouble. So Cicero followed and he found you soon enough. He was surprised you never smelled him, but you seemed too scared to notice.”

“I didn't even know you were there,” Melinda whispered. Cicero just smiled.

“Cicero is a little too good at hiding, it seems,” he grinned. “But no matter, you weren't far ahead. Cicero changed back just before those hunters caught you. By Sithis, Cicero hasn't dressed so fast in a long time. But it doesn't matter now. You're here and you're safe and Cicero shall look after you for as long as you need him to.”

Melinda closed her eyes, tears flowing. She tried to remind herself that he was evil, dangerous, a murderous killer, a servant of the Night Mother who'd used her and lied to her. It was very hard to hate him though when he was right there, being kind and sweet and he'd just saved her life. 

“Please don't cry,” she heard him say again, sounding utterly wretched. “Be angry with Cicero, he deserves it, he knows, but please don't cry!” Then he'd moved, sitting next to her on the bed, stroking her hair. Melinda gave in. Hauling herself upright, she held out her arms and he was melting into her embrace like they'd never been apart. Except this time, she was the one resting her head on his shoulder, crying in his arms like a little girl. He didn't say anything except to make little soothing noises as he stroked her hair and rubbed her back. Finally the tears subsided a little.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered, not sure what she was sorry for but sorry nonetheless. Sorry for walking out on him? Sorry for putting him to all this trouble? Sorry things hadn't worked out for them? She had no idea. But she wanted everything to be all right, and it really wasn't. 

Cicero kissed the top of her head and held on to her. 

“What happened?” she heard him ask. “Who hurt you? Why was my strong, brave, all-powerful Harbinger being hunted like a dog? Tell Cicero. Tell Cicero what happened. I assure you, my sweet, anyone who has harmed you shall pay dearly.”

“No,” Melinda sobbed, guessing all too well what sort of payment Cicero had in mind. “No, no one else must die, please...”

Cicero didn't answer. Melinda knew better than to take that as acquiescence but decided not to argue.

“I lost Wuuthrad,” she whispered. “And my armour. All my things, I had to leave them behind when I changed and I can't go back to Falkreath, not now, I just can't...”

“Where did you leave them?” Cicero asked calmly. “Where did you change? In Falkreath itself?”

“Behind the inn,” said Melinda. “I managed to get there before... it must all still be there.”

“Then rest,” said Cicero, lowering her to rest on the bed and kissing her forehead before letting her go. “Stay here, sleep, rest. Cicero shall go and find it all for you.”

“You would?” Melinda felt like she was about to cry again.

“Of course, of course!” Cicero laughed, smiling at her as he reached for his jester hat. “Wait here and rest. Cicero shall be back soon with all your fine armour and weapons and then you shall feel quite yourself again, you'll see!” He pulled the hat on and ran out, cackling to himself.

Melinda smiled weakly, still sniffing. It would take more than Wuuthrad to help her this time. But it was a start.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Cicero cut through the undergrowth, approaching Falkreath from behind and cutting through the cemetery unnoticed. Really, the security in this town was a disgrace. Absolutely anyone could sneak into this town unnoticed and get up to all sorts of mischief. Simply appalling. This of course was the reason Cicero liked the place. That and the locals were friendly. He'd got used to having people around in Jorrvaskr. Left alone again, he'd lasted about three days before cracking and ending up in the Dead Man's Drink wailing to the nice fellow Imperial who ran the inn about the woman who'd broken his heart. She'd listened with the practised ear of one who had this happen a lot, and kept the mead coming. He'd tipped her well for her trouble and since then become something of a regular. Soon he'd been in the town every other day, bringing in things to sell, picking up bounties on bandits and even the odd dragon that one time, getting to know people and becoming something of a local personality, the eccentric jester adventurer who always had a smile on his face and a song on his lips and was always willing to help those in need. 

If only they knew. But with no Listener and little hope now of ever finding one, he had to keep busy somehow. All in all, it wasn't a bad life he'd settled in to. But he missed Jorrvaskr. He missed the camaraderie, missed the fond memories of cheerfully drinking more mead than was really good for him and singing filthy, filthy songs with Torvar, seeing who could outdo the other in ribaldry. Of sparring with Vilkas, a dance of speed versus power that neither ever won but neither ever lost either. Of sitting with Farkas and enjoying the company of someone who genuinely didn't think he was insane or odd but just accepted him. Of training Ria in the fine art of swordplay and stabbing, and going hunting with Aela, who out of all of them was probably the closest to him in her fighting style and skillset. She'd have made a fine Dark Sister.

He'd missed his Harbinger, his beloved alpha, more than he could find words for. He didn't think he'd ever lay eyes on her again. Yet here she was, back in Falkreath, fallen right into his lap as it were. Pretty Melinda. Alone, scared, frightened. Something had hurt her. She'd been damaged somehow. He didn't know by what or who. But he would find out, and then... Then there would be blood.

But for now, he'd settle for finding her things. Creeping through the undergrowth, he sneaked around, heading for the inn. Sure enough, scattered around in the bushes were all of Melinda's things, her armour, her axe, her coin-purse, her pack, everything. It was a lot to carry and once again Cicero had to wonder just how she moved around with all this lot. Still, he was no weakling either, certainly not since getting the beast blood himself. Having finally collected it all, he made his way back to the Sanctuary.

“Melinda?” he called as he picked his way down the steps to Astrid's former office, leaving everything in a heap on the table. “Melinda, Cicero is here, he found everything! Melinda?”

An agonised howl came from within the bedroom and Cicero felt a little shiver run down his spine. Werewolf, a transformed werewolf, and even though he was one himself, he still felt nervous. But why on earth had she changed into her beast form? Nothing was going to hurt her in here, surely she knew that? 

“Melinda?” he called. “Why are you in beast form? And if at all possible, Cicero would prefer it if you didn't start licking him again. Or groping him. Or manhandling him in general, in fact if you could just keep your distance until you've turned back...”

Melinda was standing in the doorway, looked utterly miserable, the most heartbreaking whining he'd ever heard coming from her.

“Oh sweetness,” Cicero sighed, his resolve crumbling as he went to her. “Come here. It is all right. Cicero is here, don't be afraid.” It was ridiculous, the nearly seven foot tall wolf-beast being terrified while the five foot eight jester was the calm one, but Cicero was used to his life taking odd turns by now. At least she wasn't molesting him this time. She just sat down on the floor, curling into a little ball and whimpering, resting her head in his lap as he sat next to her, stroking her fur. They stayed that way, Cicero singing softly and whispering calming words to her until finally she shifted back, lying naked in his arms and crying again.

“Melinda,” said Cicero, arms around her, loving the feeling of her so close to him again, hating the pain she was clearly in. “Melinda, please, tell Cicero what is wrong. Why were you in wolf form?What happened?”

Melinda didn't answer. She just sobbed harder, clinging on to him like a drowning woman to her rescuer. 

“I didn't – can't... couldn't stop...” She wept helplessly, shaking as he held her and slowly Cicero began to realise what was wrong and what she was really scared of.

“Sithis,” he whispered, not even bothering to correct himself this time. “You've lost control of the changes, haven't you? They're happening all the time and you can't stop it! Oh sweetling, sweetling, how? Some people, yes, but not you, you were always so strong, so controlled, not a monster, not like poor Cicero, no.”

“You're not,” Melinda whispered. “You're a good man at heart.”

Cicero just laughed. “Oh sweetness. Cicero most certainly is not. But thank you for your faith in me. Now, let us get you back to bed and you can tell your sweet Cicero what happened. Your Companions never had this happen to them, and they were all werewolves for years. You're one for less than a year and suddenly you of all people lose control? No, no, Cicero does not believe that.”

Melinda let herself be led back to bed and be tucked in, Cicero smoothing the blankets over her before lying down next to her on top of the covers, one arm round her as he watched, concerned. How ironic that in her hour of need, who should come to her rescue but a cold-blooded unrepentant murderer. At least he was unlikely to judge her. So she told him. She left out the part about being afraid the werewolf murderer had been Cicero, but other than that, told him everything.

“So,” said Cicero once she'd finished. “Melinda took on someone else's curse but found out the price to lift it is one she cannot pay. And now she is stuck with it.” He ran his fingers across the ring on her finger. “It will not come off?”

Melinda shook her head. “No,” she whispered. “I tried but it wouldn't budge. Didn't even come off after I changed. I'm stuck with it. I can't do anything. Can't be around people. Can't kill an innocent man. Can't live wild, because I never know when I'll change and when I do change I can't go far because I always change back and end up naked and alone. Can't go back to Jorrvaskr, can't tell anyone. How do I tell people that the Dragonborn's really a ravening beast?”

“You're not!” Cicero whispered, looking more unhappy than she felt, which was something. “You've not killed anyone under the change! You're still you in there!”

“No,” Melinda whispered. “But I wanted to. When I felt the change come on me in the inn, when Narri laughed and told me I'd have all the men wrapped around my little finger, I just wanted to rip her apart. It was all I could do to get out of there and at least change in private then run. What do I do, Cicero? What if I hurt someone next time? Cicero? Cicero, what?”

He'd gone very still, looking horrified... and guilty.

“Narri,” he whispered. “It was her that triggered the change. Sweet Mother. This is my fault.”

“Your fault?” Melinda didn't like the sound of that. “How is it your fault?”

“I lay with Narri last night,” he said guiltily, eyes closed. “Melinda, I'm sorry, please, Cicero was lonely and she was there and she offered. Said there weren't many handsome men in Falkreath and she liked my hair. So I – I went with her. Sithis, it was only last night, your wolf could probably smell me on her, Melinda, I'm sorry!”

“It's all right, you didn't do anything wrong,” said Melinda, but the words sounded hollow. The rational part of her was justifying it, she'd left him, he'd been at perfect liberty to do anything he liked with a willing partner, there was nothing to forgive or for him to feel sorry for. The wolf part of her was screaming, and if she'd not just changed, she'd be turning into a wolf again, she just knew it, turning and racing out of the Sanctuary to find Narri and rip her to pieces. Cicero was hers, dammit! Her jester, her fool, no one else was allowed near him!

Oh Akatosh, she was in more trouble than she thought.

“Cicero did, he did!” Cicero cried. “He's sorry, Melinda. He didn't know... didn't know you'd be here. Oh sweetling...” He clung on to her, rocking her gently in his arms. “It is unlikely to happen again, my love. Cicero spent the whole of this morning scrubbing himself clean. He's sorry, love.”

“It's fine,” said Melinda, closing her eyes, wishing he'd stop talking and definitely stop calling her his love when she was anything but. “Really.”

“It isn't,” said Cicero miserably. “Oh Melinda. Forgive me. Cicero is a fool, but he's your fool. Even if you don't feel the same way about him. Melinda, stay. Stay here. I'll keep you safe, look after you, you don't have to lie with me, just stay here and be safe. You don't have to worry about hurting me, your wolf likes me and I can change too if I have to.”

“Thank you,” said Melinda. “But I can't. I can't impose on you for the rest of my life and I can't stay cooped up in here, I'd go mad. My wolf needs to run and be free. If I can't control it – I think I'd rather live free in the wilderness, even if I don't live very long, than stay here and be safe but trapped.”

“It would be no imposition,” said Cicero, his voice rough and dropping into a lower register. “But Cicero understands. He won't keep dear Melinda prisoner against her will. Oh but Melinda, if you are in need of food, shelter, a bath, company, anything, please come back here. Cicero will give you anything you need, anything at all. You have but to ask.”

Melinda moved closer, nestling into his arms, no longer quite able to resist him. Sex would be a very bad idea, she was sure – but she had missed him and having an ally, even an insane, murdering Dark Brotherhood assassin, was not something to be tossed aside lightly. 

“Thank you,” she said again, feeling the despair lifting a little. To have somewhere to go, even if it was what was left of the Dark Brotherhood, was more than she'd expected.

“You're quite welcome,” was all he said. “I do have one question though. If the ring will not come off, how come Sinding was able to give it to you?”

“I asked Hircine that same question,” said Melinda, beginning to feel sleepy. It was the early hours of the morning, she was sure, and it had been a long and eventful day. “He said the curse is intended for werewolves and cannot be lifted but can be transferred from one werewolf to another, if the recipient is willing. Not sure where I'm going to find a werewolf willing to take this off me though.”

“Cicero imagines that would be difficult,” she heard him murmur. “Maybe we can discuss it in the morning, hmm?”

That sounded like a good idea. She nodded assent and felt him kiss her on the cheek before slipping away, leaving her to sleep. She dreamed troubled dreams of blood and hunting that night, but always at her side ran another wolf, a smaller male with red fur, and although others ran in fear from him, when she looked at him, she only felt pride.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

When she woke, she noticed three things. First, that it was very quiet. Cicero could move silently when he needed to and he might still be asleep, but Melinda suspected otherwise. Had he headed out early?

The second thing she noticed was that the ring on her finger had vanished.

The third thing was food left on the table next to her, and a note. Trembling, she picked it up and opened it.

_Sweet Melinda,_

_Cicero offers his most sincere apologies, but this simply will not do. The Dragonborn of legend, Harbinger of the Companions, should not be reduced to skulking out in the wilds, terrified of her own shadow. Cicero simply will not have it._

_So Cicero has taken matters into his own hands. You gave me the beast blood and a Sanctuary. I will give you your life back. You may not be able to bring yourself to kill an innocent man, but Cicero assures you he'll have no such problem._

_Be free, my Harbinger. Stay or go, as you will. If you are still in the Sanctuary when Cicero returns, then Cicero shall see you again soon. If not... Cicero understands. Wherever you go, know that you'll always have a place in my heart._

_I love you,  
Cicero_

Melinda laid the note down, horrified. Hircine had said the ring could be transferred to another werewolf with the recipient's consent, but he'd said nothing about the giver's consent being required. It hadn't occurred to her anyone would try and take it. She'd clearly not reckoned on Cicero.

She had to find him. She had no idea what she was going to do, but she had to reach him before Bloated Man Grotto turned into a bloodbath.

Grabbing her armour, she hastily got dressed. Catching up with him was going to be near impossible, but she had to try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic got its name for a reason and this chapter was it. Hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> Next chapter will probably be the last one. I expect to have it online in a few days.


	8. The Gifts of Hircine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melinda's too late to stop Cicero fulfilling Hircine's wishes. But her own inner hunter has wishes of its own, especially when she next sees Cicero again. Is it possible for the last Dark Brotherhood assassin and the Harbinger of the Companions to be together, or will their differences pull them apart?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No real porny bits except towards the end when there is some snogging and groping and undressing but not a full sex scene. But the opening is Cicero tearing Bloated Man's Grotto apart and is really rather bloody.

Sinding crouched on top of the rocky promontory in the middle of Bloated Man's Grotto. It was the safest place from the hunters, most of whom had retreated and regrouped after he'd torn four of their fellows to pieces. But they'd be back before long, which is why he was staying in beast form for now.

A fresh scent wafted over on the breeze. Another hunter, another human – no. Another werewolf. Couldn't see him anywhere though. Sinding looked around, confused. Movement out of the corner of his eye, and then out of nowhere, a short man with long red hair, black and red leather armour and a jester's hat, standing at the foot of the promontory, arms folded and smiling. Sinding hadn't even known he was there, not until he was close behind. How had he not seen him come up the path?

“Hello,” said the man calmly, and Sinding shivered. There was a whole world of blood and pain in that smile, and that calm tone of voice indicated the man was quite used to violence.

“Who are you?” Sinding breathed. “Did Hircine send you?”

The man's eyebrows shot up. “You can talk?? In beast form? But that is not fair, poor Cicero cannot do that!” he snapped, glaring. “How can you do that?”

“I don't know,” Sinding sighed. “Same way some werewolves aren't tied to the moons like I am, I can talk as a beast and others can't. Trust me, if you're the kind that can choose their changes, you're better off than I am.”

Cicero held up his hand, and Sinding recognised the ring on his finger. 

“Cicero no longer has as much choice in the matter as he'd like,” said Cicero. “Are you Sinding? The wolf who caused all this trouble?”

“Where did you get that?” Sinding gasped. “I gave it to a Nord woman called Melinda who took pity on me. What happened, is she dead? Did you kill her?”

“No,” Cicero snapped, anger flashing in those pitiless dark eyes. “Sweet Melinda lives and is well, although had Cicero not found her in time, it would have been otherwise.”

“She's your lover,” said Sinding, guessing the truth. Yes, he could distantly smell her on him. This was her mate, most certainly. The corners of Cicero's lips quirked in a smile. 

“Sinding should worry less about dear Melinda and more about himself. Hircine wants you dead, ring-thief.”

“And you're here to carry it out, get the curse lifted,” said Sinding. “Well, if it's what you want to do, I can't stop you trying. But if you let me live, I could help you. Hircine's other hunters, we could take them on, the two of us. They'll be back soon enough, and only one can claim Hircine's favour. They'll kill you if you get in the way. Let me live, and I can help you deal with them.”

“Really,” said Cicero thoughtfully. “Well, humble Cicero is more than up to slaughtering the unworthy – but help is always appreciated. Very well. Let us hunt together then!”

Cicero's armour fell away as he changed, red fur sprouting everywhere, eyes becoming larger and even more feral as Cicero's face became a snout and he gained in height and muscle. Growling, he shot a grin at Sinding and motioned for him to join the fight. Slinking into a stance more befitting a fox than a wolf, Cicero vanished off in search of prey. Sinding, feeling the anxiety within unwind, followed. Time for blood.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The hunters never really knew what hit them. They'd been prepared for the big wolf tearing towards them. They'd not been prepared for the smaller red one leaping out of nowhere to grab them from behind and tear them apart. Even when they did see the little one coming, he was fast, faster than even a normal werewolf. And it was very hard indeed to keep one's courage up when the red-furred fiend was barrelling towards you, teeth bared and giggling as its claws ripped aside all who faced it.

Finally the hunters had been torn apart, blood soaking the ground and staining the grass red. Cicero was rolling in it, howling in delight, and that didn't stop even when he shifted back into human form. Sinding watched, a little unnerved to see a grown man naked apart from a jester's hat, revelling in the blood and singing.

“Ha ha ha, hee hee hee, Hircine's hunters no match for meee!”

“You're revolting,” Sinding said, faintly disgusted. Cicero laughed and sprang to his feet. 

“Sinding rips a child to pieces but can't stomach poor Cicero?” he laughed. Sinding turned away, shuddering.

“I wasn't in control of myself,” he muttered. “It wasn't my fault! I couldn't help it. It was the ring. The ring made me do it.”

“The ring made me do it!” Cicero mocked. “Cicero thinks otherwise. Cicero wears it now, Cicero feels its power, but thus far, Cicero's not lost himself to it at all. It unlocks what is already there, brings out all the dark secrets, all the violent urges you're suppressing. Sweet Melinda is a good person, but even she has her weaknesses which is why she turned when she smelled her lover's scent on another woman, and again on being in the bed he'd slept in. Cicero is a very very bad man indeed, which is why he's not been changed by the ring at all yet. And Sinding? Cicero thinks Sinding would like to be a good man, but when little girls are around, Sinding gets some very bad urges indeed. Is Cicero right?” Cicero's mouth had curved into a wicked smile that made Sinding want to rip his head off.

“Get away from me,” Sinding hissed. “It wasn't... it wasn't my fault!”

“It never is, is it?” Cicero laughed, knowing look in those eyes. Sinding growled, advancing forwards. Cicero held up his hands, backing away.

“Cicero is leaving, do not fear,” Cicero said, still grinning. “He shall keep your secret. All the same... perhaps it is best if dear Sinding stays away from people, hmm? We wouldn't want any more... accidents.”

“No,” said Sinding, calming down. The man might be a crazy little fool, but he was right about that at least. “No, you're right. I'll stay here. It's best if I don't go near humans again. Thank you. For dealing with the hunters. Give my best to Melinda and tell her thank you for taking pity on me.”

Cicero cackled and leapt off the crag, running off to retrieve his gear. Sinding sat down, weary after the exertion but glad it was all over. He lay down to sleep, which is why he didn't even notice Cicero return until the ebony dagger slashed his throat open and the Skyforge blade pierced his ribs.

“Cicero is sorry,” the jester said casually, as Sinding breathed his last. “But Hircine specifically requested that we kill you and offer your skin as a sacrifice, and Cicero can't let his clients down, can he now? Also, when he turns into a vicious monster and goes on a killing spree, he'd like it to be at a time and place of his choosing. Otherwise it gets... ugly. Cicero abhors ugliness. Don't you?”

Sinding didn't answer. He was already dead by then. Cicero retrieved his blades, cleaned his sword and then started skinning the beast. A messy job, but a client's requirements were a client's requirements. Who was Cicero to argue?

~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Melinda raced up the path to the grotto, hoping beyond hope she wasn't too late, but suspecting otherwise. She had no idea what sort of head start he had, but his trail had been cooling as she'd followed it.

The cave reeked of blood and death as she ventured in, and the sight that met her confirmed her worst fears. A small campsite, with blood everywhere and bodies lying torn apart as if they were nothing more substantial than dolls. It got worse as she ventured further in to find yet more bodies, all torn apart by tooth and claw. Werewolf work, no doubt. But Sinding in self-defence or Cicero? She had no idea, absolutely no idea. At least, not until she turned the final corner to the horrifying sight of a skinned werewolf, flies buzzing around exposed flesh and a clean throat wound the clear cause of death. Cicero's work, no doubt. He'd done what she never could. She didn't know whether to be appalled or impressed. As it was, she settled for nauseated. Feeling ill, she fled the cave.

Cicero was nowhere around – probably on his way back by now. She'd taken a shortcut to get here – swimming Lake Ilinalta and cutting through Brittleshin Pass. Cicero had probably gone via the road to get back to Falkreath. She could go after him, but she had no idea what to say to him. Thank you? How could you murder all those people? What in the name of Talos is wrong with you, you sick man?

Her mind kept circling back to thank you. He'd kept his word and given her her life back. Because he loved her and didn't want her to be unhappy, wanted Jorrvaskr to have its Harbinger and the world to have its Dragonborn. He'd asked not a thing in return. Violent little psychopath he might be but he did have a sense of honour. More than that... she missed him. She missed her darling little jester-wolf. She just didn't like what that said about her, that she no longer cared about his loyalty to the Night Mother or all the things he'd done in the past and would probably do again.

She needed to think. She'd been away from Jorrvaskr too long, that was her trouble. She needed to see her Shield-Brothers and Shield-Sisters again, have a long bath and a long sleep in her own bed, have a decent meal, drink and tell stories (but not this one, not yet), take on some jobs, settle back into her normal life. Things would look so much clearer then. Either that or she'd realise it was just the emotion of the moment and she didn't miss Cicero at all. Not a lot of chance of that, but a woman could hope. Turning for Dragonsreach, she set off for home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three weeks passed. Life settled into a calm, if fairly dull, routine. There were giants out in the Pale, necromancers in Haafingar, bears in the Rift, Forsworn causing trouble in the Reach. Same old trouble, same old Skyrim. But everyone had noticed that the work in Falkreath was drying up. No trouble there? Or someone else dealing with the problems first? Melinda had her own suspicions, and those suspicions were confirmed when one day, Cicero himself came strolling in as if he'd never been away, in his Dark Brotherhood boots and gloves, a light wolfskin armour that radiated some sort of magic, Blade of Woe on one hip, Skyforge blade on the other, and the ever-present hat, of course. 

“Hello, hello!” he trilled as he bounced in. “Cicero has returned!”

Silence as the entire mead hall stared at him. Then Ria had squealed, pounced on Cicero and practically hugged the man to death, before enthusing about how her training was coming along. Cicero watched her demonstrate a few moves and made a few impressed comments, before Farkas came up behind him and slapped him on the back, sending the poor jester staggering. 

“Welcome back, brother,” Farkas grunted. “Been too quiet without you.”

Cicero had exclaimed how good it was to see dear Farkas again and how much he'd missed them all, making his way past everyone with a cheery word and a hug for everyone, until finally he stood in front of Melinda. The cheery grin faded as he stared nervously at his feet. 

“Harbinger,” he said, the faintest hint of a tremor in his voice.

“Cicero,” said Melinda, wondering what on earth he was doing here. Why turn up now, after all this time? She would have thought he would keep his distance on finding her not there at the Sanctuary when he returned. “It's been a while. I – didn't think you'd come back.”

“Cicero wasn't going to,” he said, still nervous. “You'd said you didn't want – so Cicero stayed away. But he missed you. And now... now I need your advice. May we talk? In private? It is a delicate matter.”

“All right,” said Melinda, very glad to get him away from prying eyes. She really didn't want him outed as an assassin, or her own misadventures in Falkreath revealed. So she got to her feet and led him to her quarters.

Aela was standing by the stairs, giving Cicero a very firm look.

“Welcome back, Cicero. I hope you and the Harbinger made up your argument?”

Cicero laughed nervously and edged behind Melinda.

“Leave it, Aela,” said Melinda, feeling her protective urges returning. “We're fine.”

“I hope so,” said Aela, standing aside to let them both pass. “If my Harbinger's heart gets broken again, brother, I'll tear you limb from limb personally, understand?”

Cicero whimpered a little, clinging on to Melinda. “Cicero will not hurt the sweet Harbinger, he swears!” 

“Come on,” said Melinda, wishing Aela wouldn't get quite so protective of her pack. “Let's talk.”

~~~~~~~~~~ 

Once settled inside her room, Cicero finally seemed to relax, removing his boots and stretching out on the bed. Melinda decided to pull up a chair instead. Joining him on the bed could only lead to trouble.

“So how've you been?” she asked, not sure what to say. “And what brings you back here? Did you find a Listener? Is this -?” She stopped, not sure she wanted to say that final word, goodbye.

She needn't have worried. Cicero shook his head sadly.

“No. No Listener. The Sanctuary is on a road, travellers pass overhead every day, but Mother calls no one. Cicero doesn't think she will, but...” He looked up, smiling faintly. “How has my Harbinger fared? The curse is lifted, yes? All is well with you?”

“Yes,” said Melinda, vision of Sinding's mutilated corpse flashing before her eyes. “I don't know whether to thank you or run screaming in terror. What did you do to him?”

Cicero fingered the face on his armour, a face which made Melinda feel queasy as she recognised it. “He died quickly, Harbinger. Hircine was pleased. So pleased that not only did he give this fine armour to Cicero, crafting it out of dead Sinding's skin, he let me keep the ring.” A sleight of hand later, and it was sitting in Melinda's hand. 

“Hircine has blessed it,” said Cicero. “If worn by a werewolf, it will let you change more than once a day. Does my Harbinger want it? It is yours if you wish.”

Melinda passed it back to him, not sure she wanted the reminder. “You keep it. You earned it, after all.” She folded his hands over the ring and looked at him, feeling a little guilty at the rejected look in his eyes. “I never said thank you, did I? For saving me.”

Cicero blushed, looking away. “It was nothing,” he said, modest to the last. “Humble Cicero just did his job and killed a few people who needed killing, that's all.”

“You took on a cursed artefact and a transformed werewolf,” said Melinda. “That took some doing. My fellow Companions are brave, but not even Aela would have risked losing herself to the beast, not even for me.”

Cicero raised her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers lightly. “Cicero didn't fear it. Cicero lost himself to the beast some years ago.”

“I don't think that's entirely true,” said Melinda. “I can't call you a decent human being, because you blatantly aren't. But you're not without principles either. You gave up everything for the Night Mother, and when you had me vulnerable and at your mercy, you didn't take advantage.”

Cicero looked away, blushing. “Cicero wouldn't do that,” he whispered. “He loves Melinda's strength and wildness. To see her caged broke his heart.” He was still holding her hand, rubbing the back of it with his thumb. “Cicero's most pleased to see you back to normal.”

Melinda couldn't help but smile. She was rather pleased to see him too. She just wasn't sure where they went from here. He was an unrepentant killer and never likely to change. His mind was fragile and damaged and that was never likely to change either. 

He'd been her mate once, and that was something she could never change. She'd missed him. 

“You really did love me, didn't you?” she said. “You weren't just seducing me to get the rest of the Dark Brotherhood wiped out, were you?”

Cicero placed a finger to her lips, smiling.

“I still do,” he told her. “You don't have to love me back.”

Well of course she didn't have to. Hadn't he taken care of the Night Mother for twelve years with no response and still been prepared to give his life for her? This wasn't a man used to his affections being returned.

“What did you want anyway?” Melinda asked, taking his hand away from her face and gently but firmly pinning it to the bedclothes. “You said you needed advice.”

“Oh! Yes, yes, I did. Harbinger, I told you I was Thane of Falkreath. That nice Jarl Siddgeir had taken me into his confidence. Well, he has an uncle who was Jarl before, Dengeir, who lives in Falkreath.”

“Go on,” said Melinda uneasily, fairly certain she knew where this was going. 

“Siddgeir thinks Dengeir is after his throne back,” said Cicero nervously. “Siddgeir doesn't like feeling uneasy in his hall. So he's offered Cicero a large amount of gold to take care of the problem.”

“He's hired you to kill Dengeir?” Melinda asked, shocked. Cicero nodded, looking miserable. Now that was a surprise. She wouldn't have expected this to be a problem for him.

“But... you're an assassin. Isn't this what you do?” she asked. 

“It is not the same!” Cicero cried. “We would be given our orders and go out to kill strangers! Dengeir is Cicero's friend! Cicero helped him take care of some vampires! Cicero regularly drinks with Dengeir in the Dead Man's Drink! Dengeir thinks Siddgeir doesn't trust him and is going to hire someone to kill him and offered Cicero a similarly large amount of gold if he could uncover the truth behind this and deal with it.” Cicero stared at Melinda, despairing. “What is Cicero supposed to do?? Other than take the gold from both, kill both and run, which was Cicero's first idea, but he'd like to be able to stay in Falkreath. Oh Melinda, I don't know what to do! Which one do I kill? Siddgeir is young and stupid and not a very good Jarl if Cicero is honest, but easy to manipulate and Cicero is his Thane. He doesn't want to be known as Cicero Jarl-Killer! But Dengeir is Cicero's friend, and Cicero will miss him if he dies. But he is an old man and possibly a little Void-touched and Cicero isn't sure he'd be a good Jarl either. Harbinger, help me! Cicero doesn't know what to do!”

Melinda sympathised, she really did, but in all honesty, she wasn't sure what sort of advice she could usefully give. Assassination wasn't really her strong point.

“Can't you tell them both to go to Oblivion and sort their own problems out?” she asked. “Tell them you're not their personal contract killer for hire.”

“No, Cicero is the Night Mother and Melinda's contract killer for hire!” said Cicero indignantly. “But Mother won't speak and Melinda doesn't want him, so Cicero doesn't know what to do. Dear Melinda, if you don't love me back, can't you at least be my Harbinger and give me some orders?”

“The Companions don't work like that!” Melinda sighed. “Cicero, I'm not a Listener. I don't have a hotline to the gods. No one's the boss of anyone in the Companions – I'm not the boss of you and you're not the boss of me. It's no business of mine what you do in the name of honour.”

“Honour, eh?” Cicero said thoughtfully. “Well, Cicero's honour insists he fill a contract, but which one to take? Does Melinda have a political preference? Siddgeir backs the Empire but Dengeir's a Stormcloak.”

“Don't ask me about politics,” Melinda laughed bitterly. “I had to hold a peace summit to sort the dragon problem out, and ended up giving the Reach a Jarl whose brother was using the Forsworn to run an assassination ring, and the Rift a Jarl who's the patron of the Thieves Guild. Frankly I'm done with the whole business.”

Cicero had gone very quiet. Next thing Melinda knew, he'd sat up, perched on the edge of the bed and holding her hands, beguiling smile on his face.

“Melinda regrets putting corrupt Jarls on the throne?” he asked. “Cicero might be able to help rectify that state of affairs.”

“You wouldn't,” Melinda breathed. Cicero's grin broadened as he kissed the back of her hand. She should really tell him to stop doing that, but it was sending little chills down her spine.

“Why not?” Cicero purred. “Cicero is an assassin with no Listener to give him orders. Melinda is a Harbinger who wishes to purge corruption from Skyrim's public life but who can't exactly do that herself. Cicero thinks that's an admirable aim and would like to offer his help.” He smiled up at her, seductive charm in full force. Damn the man. It was almost as if he could see into her darkest fantasies, of using her powers for good and bringing down the evil that threatened Skyrim. Many was the night she'd sat and shared a few bottles of mead with Aela and Vilkas back at Breezehome complaining about all the trouble in Skyrim and wanting to know why it couldn't be as simple to solve as hitting it with a battleaxe.

Maybe it could be.

She had a feeling Kodlak Whitemane would never approve. But Kodlak was in Sovngarde now and beyond the troubles of this world. This wasn't something she'd be able to tell stories of, not something bards would sing about. But if you did good things just for the glory, what did that make you?

Her hand tightened on Cicero's and she reached out with her free hand, fingers snaking into his hair as she pulled him closer and kissed him.

Cicero gasped and then slid into her lap, arms around her, lips bruising hers in a searing kiss. It went on for a good minute before she finally came up for air.

“Is that a yes, Harbinger?” Cicero gasped, face flushed, delighted smile on his face.

“You need to take care of your Falkreath dilemma,” she told him. “Maybe neither of them are terribly good Jarls, but one would be a better Jarl than the other and I think you already know who it is. Then come back here to Jorrvaskr. We've got work to do, my Cicero.”

“Harbinger,” Cicero gasped, still grinning in delight. “You mean it? I can come back?”

Melinda nodded. Talos, but she'd missed him. He might be a Dark Brotherhood assassin, but thanks to her, he was now the only Dark Brotherhood assassin, and it occurred to her that maybe having an assassin on permanent retainer might be a good thing.

That and the thought of anyone else taking him into their bed made her want to kill things. No, all in all, it was far better for everyone if he stayed here with her.

Cicero squealed and cuddled her. To her astonishment, there were tears in his eyes. 

“Thank you!” he cried. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! Cicero will be the best Shield Brother you could wish for!”

“Hopefully a little more than that, jester mine,” Melinda murmured, nipping gently at his throat. “But don't lie to me again, you understand? No dark secrets. Lie to the rest of the world if you want but never to me, all right?”

“Never,” Cicero moaned, squirming in her lap. “Cicero will never lie to you, he swears. He asks only one thing.”

Melinda stopped what she was doing and looked up. “What is it?” she asked. He was looking a little nervous.

“Cicero has been reading,” he said, his eyes darkening. “About Sithis and the Brotherhood. All sorts of ancient and scholarly texts, trying to find out why the Night Mother stopped speaking. He still doesn't know exactly why, but Sithis is the ultimate principle of non-existence, so the texts say. All things must die in the end. Sithis is change, impermanence.” He lowered his eyes, sniffling a little. “Maybe that means the Brotherhood too. Maybe Mother cannot speak because she too ended.”

Melinda patted him gently. She couldn't really shed any tears over the Night Mother herself but she knew Cicero had made the Brotherhood and the Night Mother the centrepieces of his life for years.

“It could be,” she said. “I'm sorry, Cicero.”

“You are not,” said Cicero bitterly. “You do not mourn the Brotherhood, do not pretend you do.”

“No I don't,” said Melinda, stroking his hair. “But you do, and I don't like seeing you upset.”

Cicero kissed her cheek. “That is nice to know,” he said. “It is true. Cicero fears the worst – that the Night Mother died when the Listener did. Maybe even before then and the Listener never said anything. But Cicero cannot give up hope or abandon her. So this is what he asks. That while Jorrvaskr is home now, he can return to Falkreath once a week or so and tend to the Night Mother. It may be she never speaks. Or it may be that one day she will call a Listener again. But Cicero cannot walk away. He is Keeper, and Keeper he will remain. But he sees no reason to spend all his time at Mother's side. Not when he could be rather more use at yours.”

“What if a new Listener is called?” Melinda asked, not liking the idea of what would happen if the Night Mother did speak again. Cicero was hers, not some Listener's!

Cicero hesitated. “I don't know,” he admitted. “Maybe I would have to stay and serve them. But it might also be that with a Listener called, Cicero no longer would need to be Keeper. Cicero doesn't know what would happen. But it could also be it never happens in Cicero's lifetime. Didn't you tell me once that if our time together was cut short, you wanted to make the most of what we had?”

She had indeed. This was a risky line of work and likely to get riskier if she did indeed branch out into assassinating corrupt rulers. All the more reason to enjoy what she had. And what she had was a willing man currently sitting on her lap with an impressive erection and a smile that could lure an Aedra to sin.

With one swift move, she pushed Cicero back on to the bed and moved to straddle him. Cicero shrieked in delight, wrapping his arms around her as he pulled her in for a kiss.

“Is this yes? Am I yours again, my Harbinger?” he giggled.

“Yes,” Melinda growled. “Yes, you're my Cicero, my little Fool of Hearts. And together, we're going to hunt the unworthy. But before we do that... you and I are going to have sex. Lots of it. We've got a lot of lost time to make up, you and I.”

Cicero shivered at her words, blissed out little smile on his face.

“I love it when you get all strong and dominant,” he murmured, reaching up to help her get her armour off. 

Melinda rather liked it too. She wouldn't want to be a slave to her more bestial urges, no... but now and then, giving in to Hircine's gifts was what made life worth living. As she and Cicero undressed each other and fell into each other's arms, she decided the jester assassin was definitely one of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! OP, I hope you liked it - it ended up being a bit darker than I thought it would be, but Cicero's secret past in the Dark Brotherhood was never going to stay secret for long and I just couldn't see a Harbinger being fine with it all. Using his skills to clean Skyrim up a bit though, she's fine with that, it turns out. :)
> 
> Thank you to everyone who left comments, I hope you enjoyed it.


End file.
